The City

I am an effort mirror
I’m up to this contempt exceedance
Of a metropolis
Obviously modern
Because every known taste
Has been avoided in the furniture
And in the outsides of the houses
As well as in the layout of the city, of the city
Here you will not discover the least sign of every movement of superstition
They ensure it’s more obvious
And speech is reduced to the simplest expressions
Live with millions of people who have no need of knowing one another
Condemn their education, their trade and their hope in such similarity
That the duration of the lives must be several time shorter than
According to some insane statistics
This encased people on the contempt
From my window, from my window
From my window I see new ghosts rolling though thick, everlasting, cold smoke
Our shadow on the walls, our summer night
You, your melodies… You, your melodies… You, your melodies
In front of my cottage, which is call to the end of my heart
Since everything here resembled death without tears
Our acting daughter and the servant
Our desperate love, our desperate love, our desperate love
And the pretty, pretty cry
Cry in the mud of this street
Death without tears, death without tears
Death without tears, death without tears
The entire universe is now open to us!