In a fat land, full of snails
I want to dig myself a deep grave
Where I can at leasure stretch out my old bones
And sleep in oblivion like a shark in the wave
I hate testaments, and I hate tombs
Rather than implore a tear of the world
Living, I'd rather invite the crows
To bleed every bit of my filthy carcass
O worms! Black companions without ears and without eyes
See, approaching you, a corpse free and happy
Debauched philosophers, children of decay
So, through my ruins, go without remorse
And tell me if there is yet some torture
For this old soulless body, dead among the dead