I want to give in to my every bad instinct Because I like the blood trickling down in silence I like hematomes like different blooming flowers under sheets Because if it wasn’t for the birds, I wouldn’t even see the trees If they weren’t ashes, I wouldn’t be I want the light trapping my image in the smooth surface Of the swiftest killer I need the sounds to have colour I’m only in my skin if I’m in another’s I’m still the Scar Collector I keep drowning in my mirror I found a door in the back of my cranial box That makes all the frescoes become litter Neo is diving in the matrix While cortex is turning me bitter J’envie de voler Des carresses Et m’enlever En quittant ma peau Et mes organes qui me représente pas Continuer a vivre sur le monde des idées Pas gourd pas lourd Devenir en forme ce que j’étais en esprit Des fumes La Terre m’appelle à ma place dans les racines L’arbre transitoire et évasive Hold back the tears and impulses The hand that whips and chokes Is the same that feeds