Blessed are the poor in spirit
For they have but a low awareness of existing
To gauge the depth of life leads to find nothingness
Then let us place among those who don't look for anything
Who blind themselves to not disappear
And the disgust with reality will become bearable
Blessed are the deceased children
For they will never know disillusion
Of a life that is not worthy
Of the promises of childhood
Living in the moment they have died
Innocent and ignorant
Without projecting into useless dreams
Devastated by labour and the presence of others
Blessed are the stillborn
For they haven't learnt anything
The knowledge of this world leads
To glimpse its vacuity
And takes us away from chaos that was our cradle
Let us deny the world of others
Let us deny everything
Let us kill ourselves and go back to chaos
Birth is not the supreme good, I curse it!
Let us flee from it to forget this scourge
This evil behind us and not before
That should cause grief
For it has thrown us out of chaos
We should have never left
I detest this mortal shell that wastes away day by day
All crippled from birth compared to excellence
We are nothing and adorn ourselves with artifacts
Becoming a void decorated with grotesque
Profoundly thwarted, deceived by life for here
This is no love, but a narcissistic desire of seduction
There is no good but a cult of ephemeral beauty
And no great dream that be realized
I miss this moment before I was born
Looking forward to returning to chaos
