Ataraxie Avide De Sens
Someday you will wake up in the depth of the night
Anguished, tormented and helpless but wondering why
It's the torturing void of your miserable existence
The silliness of your life, the uselessness of your acts
All working over your mind and filling you with fear
Someday you will realize at the end of your empty life
Resigned, strenghtless and breathless but knowing why
You have always been acting like a greedy living dead
Attracted by living places and begging for warmth and affection
To finally be cast aside, rejected and left inevitably alone
By all these unsound minded and treacherous beings
Et un matin, tu t'éveilleras mais rien n'aura changé
Tes actes, insatiables, seront toujours d'une parfaite futilité
Que tes mots, en cent éclats tremblants, porteront comme fardeau.
Et ni les murs, ni la pluie observée de ta fenêtre, n'y répondront
Tu resteras ainsi, condamné, impuissant... prisonnier de ton existence
Et les jours, eux-mêmes, deviendront des échos... et tes cris resteront sans réponse.
Since we were born, we run towards the illusions of self creation
But I tell you, nothing will remain except the void that you once were
And the stench of your forsaken, scummy and decomposed empty bottle
Wordlessly filling in time within its self sculptured wooden funereal dwelling
So comforting yourself with Gods or high ideals will never make a change
Arcane emptiness will inescapably engulf you within its merciless arms
Six feet under you all will be laid to rest and ludicrous decaying suit
Proclaiming your innocence against this mortal and partial punishment
Do whatever you can for erasing years and the unkindness of time
Pray whoever you believe for saving souls and heretical minds
Profit whenever you're able to rekindle the flames of vain hopes
Waste whichever you find to claim your mucking state of being
