Violet fields, blooming at the nameless crime in the light of the empty screens Pulsating ray short shutters of hatred ritual dance of shadow gestures Lodge of scoffers, tangled hands Humiliation, blooming on the breasts like a weed Transfused on the paper, the makes endless marches of Twisted and sick gestures, insane shapes Evil, diminished to the measure of a tear in our might, small as the empty words Madmen on the sock of glory'n'tradition darkness will come, bringin' the relief I won't see the face of God when he'll come with bowed head Legs in the slime of dirty life left in own hopelessness On the armchair of illusions I will submit the sentence I'll stay the Moon saving the cadaverous light On the violet fields of extinction
