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Who speaks does indeed lie,
Who does not, surely knows more,
But keeps silent by fear to die,

The Walls have ears,
To listen and hear,
The brother became a foe to testify,
A brother sells a brother,
In this deep, dark room,
Under the torch blow!
Body parts here and there, exposed,
To the naked eye!

In the X room,
In between the butler’s hands,
The truth and evidence are baklava-like 
Fabricated and made,
In that sweep clean sink,
God has been mentioned one million and a half times,
But no hear…no see!
The law of Amorta is above all laws,

My witnesses are solid static objects to say,
A bottle, a spanner, a screwdriver,
A hammer and an electric tool to go,
To accomplish the job,
The dirty job, you’ve guessed what next to do!

Bastards have adopted names and, 
Became respected men,
Old grannies are raped in turn and in presence of their beloved ones,
Old grannies turned delightful virgins, and were re-raped again,
Simple mothers who backed the first November bread were sliced,
Like mad!!

Dogs ceased to bark like before,
Cats became sheepish and were all kept indoors,
Their presence also ceased to scare rats and mice,
Along the streets, boulevards and corridors,

And morality, honour, pride and co,
Were all sold in the black market,
For a cheap Dinar and in that store,
Or were all buried in the sand,
Or were all soaked with this mighty black gold,
Or were all lit with a match to blow, blow…blow!



Scared to death where death becomes now only a nirvana,
Scared as a shaking leaf,
Scared not to die, but scared to witness and testify,
Your own soul is coming out of you,
Out of your being in a slow motion,
Whilst you are still bleaking,
Not a single scream, nor a single cry!

You plead guilty or not,
No one can protect you,
Or shade,
Nessuno comes to your salvation, Mai,

No one comes to your salvation,
Whether you tell the whole truth, or a fabricated lie!

Hooligans and outlaws were forced to march in uniform,
And were called the sons of nation,
To help, to save a war of gains and privatisation,

Kids if not slaughtered or kidnapped,
Are given sweets and short religious sermons,
On patriotism and are used to decorate road-sides,
And put on stage to boost a song and a play...
Hey…hey…hey….!

But bastards remain always bastards,
By God almighty! Earth and sky!
The filthy flesh remains always stinky,
Even if camouflaged with a fragrant scented high,
And in what a true perfume could mean and signify!
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