I'm not like you, I'm not like you, I'm not.

I am like me, like a flame on the water

And no one picks me up from the streets

And no one can find my escape, but I.

You grin and shake everyone's hand

And the dead and the living.

You drink from the blood left by the pigs on the road

And with the rest you water the flowers.

Your words have sharpened your tongue too much

And the words you say make you the worst man,

A destroyer of occult beliefs and rituals.

Oh, I love your mud! I bathe in it.

Poverty makes people desperate,

And the mirror halves I still have

I wish I ate them in this world,

But, that's it, it's not going to happen.

Only the cold can use my face,

For I do not weep for you,

But for all those who believed

In the power of your silence and who died.