The humanity is a word like an ulcer in the anus
all speak of her with embarrassment, with wrath
and rage the brutality is the jealous god, all adore
her, plan her, set her in systems although she is
the anarchy herself. The brutality fulfils their lusts,
she’s voluptuous, she brings wealth money
and satisfaction she’s a cosmic fuck with a cosmic
orgasm and the massacres no longer stop for her
they invented the most terrible bombs, they organized
invincible armies ‒ in today’s wars prisoners
or wounded no longer exist, but only charred flesh
one thinks evilly nonetheless the creature called human
will perish for sure, there is no return journey
from this killer progress, although mercy exists
for everyone, no one expects anything the ulcer
in the anus swells like a balloon a horror Harhar
philosophizes, “The women are a hostile people
just like the German people. These nasty little
bitches bring the end. A single pleasure exists,
that of being alive and of exterminating the ones
who have an ulcer in the anus, the humanists.
All the rest is misery.”
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