Roda Morta (reflexões de um executivo)

The sad thing in all this is all of this
I mean, except for nothing, all that remains is the commitment
With the decayed teeth of joy
With the disgust and agony of the herd of the normal ones.

The sad thing in all this is all this
The sordidness of the content of these mechanical days
And the machines digging a deep well among the laborers,
myself and the world of colonial salons.

Colonies of columnar vultures
Sociable hawks vomiting among the crystals
And the crests of these toy roosters
Whose cowardice and fear give the sun a lilac hue.

I see a green mold on my tailcoat
And the dead flies in the cognac I inherited from my ancestors
And the hordes of demons when I sleep
Infesting the nighttime horror of my infernal dreams.

I know that when I wake up I put on the false and infamous face
like the lust of the vilest among mortals
And I die when I enter the office
Where the partner and the informer never leave me in peace

The sad thing in all this is that I know this
I live this and beyond this
I always want more and more.
(2x)
more and more