the hill of epitaphs

In the dirty hands of poverty, Scavengers of the Republic of Enlightenment Quench their thirst under the eyelids of the proletarians. A sinecure of hard drugs To silence the lamentations of these birds of ill omen. The crosses are upside down in the furnaces of hell; Lucifer, the egregore of these bloodthirsty criminals, Has no distinction against the sickles of the angel of death. The Earth is allergic to love; It is the war that invigorates all these hearts of stone. I have hated justice since I waddled on the edge of the spiral precipice, My attachment to dirty money, which is similar to a fanatic's devotion to spiritual beliefs. Sleepless nights leafing through the black pages of my legal pedigree, I love the silence of darkness, like the darkness of a sequestered coffin in a cemetery. My reflexes are monetary and my passions are deadly. I only have partners; I'm not your brother, I'm lonely as death. The mood of a Palestinian in the shoes of a Pharisee, Suicidal like these Africans Which cross the Sahara and the Mediterranean. A Kalashnikov in the brain, I proudly accept the darkness of my words. I am angry like all these child soldiers from the cradle. I fiercely adore freedom in the bowels of a France filled with fascists. Negrophobes have the right to be angry; After all, I'm just an ungrateful who always cheated. I didn't come to assimilate, Just amass without calculating before being expelled. Flashes of macabre memories to erase my nightmares, I'm starving, thirsty for hemoglobin like a vampire. I have been walking on death row since I arrived on Earth; For all my blasphemy, I will end up in flames.