| Total isolation
|
| Rooms all the same
|
| Empty glasses, puke and stains of blood
|
| And the marks of scratches against silent walls
|
| And I can still hear the screams of psychos
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| And I can still feel the blows
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| And the stink of medicines
|
| And the screams of silence of endless nights
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| That never ending darkness
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| And that blinding white of the walls
|
| Dozen and dozen of beings
|
| Drag themselves with no sense
|
| There are no mirrors
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| Nobody owns anything
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| It’s like time has forgot to flow
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| Time with no meaning
|
| I heard those voices inside me:
|
| You must die…
|
| Slowly, slowly…
|
| Where were them?
|
| I could feel them coming to my brain
|
| Mysterious nothing…
|
| Multiproblematic reign
|
| I couldn’t contrast them
|
| I tried to run, madly, even by night
|
| I couldn’t suffocate them
|
| Those voices were leaking in me
|
| Until they took every single corner of my mind
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| Until they became so deafening to feel the urge
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| Of screaming to shut them
|
| The descent to this hell interspersed with attempts of escape
|
| Of degradation and violence
|
| Long years of horror — the horror of solitude: abandon…
|
| And I banged with my fists to the walls
|
| With hundredfold strength
|
| In here men don’t praise the evil
|
| But they buy the good that they find inside of it
|
| In here are swallowed fluorescent poisons and asbestos pills |