Mi Funeral 11

Disorganized crime comes in and out of my house
or goes to the next-door house.
All my friends are the same
and the ones who are not the same are so different that we are absent.
Recently, a friend returned repentant to his house,
and around here, he doesn't even come by, nor does he answer the phone.
Maybe it's the psychiatrist's instructions:
'keep taking the ribo but don't hang out with the sneaky musician'
I don't blame him, something very similar happened to me.
And I detoxed, gained weight
and had breakfast at noon five minutes of happiness.
The truth? Sometimes I would kill for another five minutes.
And what else? The rest of life
Life? What life?
Mine would scare you.
Even though I like life, it scares me too.
The truth is I have moments of weakness.
And I want to go to the movies, have dinner with a couple of friends,
talk about Jarsmuch and Abel Ferrara,
and no weird mornings,
and no weird mornings.
I look at others who are like me ... bad life.
If they haven't committed suicide, it's out of cowardice.
How I wish to be so different
that in exchange for being a damn loner:
a good job, musical ease, intellectual violence,
fame, respect... not bad.
But the wound is deadly.
I'm not alone, really,
my own loneliness accompanies me.
Really, my own loneliness accompanies me.
Doesn't anyone know what happens to different people?
The bohemian rotted long before the millennium.
And the prisoner? Looks bad in a greasy world,
What about the homeless, the drunks, and the dreamers?
I'll tell you what happens: they end up homeless and
modern life crushes them,
runs over them and devours them, eats them up
or locks them up under a diet of cindor and cocaine
or licks their ass waiting
for them to end up crawling.
I don't know.
To me, it seems as clear as dirty water.
That's life.
That's life.
Endlessly one becomes decadent,
and in a society that fattens, you show your bones,
those bones,
that abandonment... Could it be the ozone layer?
I don't know.
To me, it seems as clear as stagnant water,
nothing happens.
To me, it seems as clear as dirty water,
that's life.
That's life...
My funeral once made of bronze.