In the winter evenings Solitude devours my nerves in large painful bites An endless dismay deep in the eyes, A sordid hunger leads my furious sadness My arms beside my body, Like a turned off merry go round Dreams are too precious to be dreamt again, Everything becomes forbidden, the crime of living Makes me eternally convicted, While the pornography of the common pride abuses us We are the naked men Mute carnages hidden in every face Nothing changes in thirty years But the awareness that this sensation is no longer a menace But a bitter truth to face with There are no real victories, In our past as in our future Our empty hands desperately try To hang on a so far womb, To hang on a likewise loser We toss our bodies against each other Like in a car crash And we call it love, and we call it life, When it' only compulsion Compulsion