***
The terror! And they seem to have already forgotten.
Childish, poor country the day will come back,
the night will come back, the meteorites with flagella
are pursuing the weariness. The Parliament’s proud,
insolent jackals crammed with money measure the steps
of the horned sheep in centimetres, feeling the thigh
of the whores, they count the moans of those struck
by the sycophants, the butchers are thinking about all
kinds of taxes. During the Mass, they make high signs
of the cross and they fondle each other’s asses.
The cannibals project the Great Terror, the shameful
happiness, the fear, the lump in the throat, the pomposity,
they measure the void between the legs. Hallelujah!
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