I am trapped in the dementia of this place
that has never been imbued with the flavor of childhood .
But it still haunts me like a family excommunication .
I am the skin of walls oozing the madhouse ...
The dustbin of time has settled on the mummies
in the dying room ,frozen in front of the TV screen
where an announcer declares that the program
has been briefly interrupted for eternity ...
Often ,I had dates with chicks who had run away
from the crypt ,hiding beneath the shroud
that concealed shameful nights of ecstasy ...
The week was marked by silence .
sunday was chicken and fries .
The strangler never forgets those moment of grace
when an honorable calling is forged ...
What a wonderful life ! and I was in love with Sandy Shaw...
Well-mannered ghosts still put on their slippers at the entrance
to convince themselves the\'re still alive .
I remember that good dog who died from living too long .
we never pay attention to our fellow travelers !
0r we sometimes water them absentmindedly ...
Mom hanged herself in the attic .
That sunday the chicken tasted like arsenic ...
Sometimes I join the ectoplasms who are waiting
for the next part of the program ...
I take off my shoes at the entrance and pet the good dog .
wherever you stay or always return to ,
that is where hell lies ...
I wonder who set fire to that damn hole ?
And i\'m still in love with Sandy shaw...