51% Dead - Poema Arcanus

Could you cook my pride?

Please season it with rage

Then let me feed off it

I will become your slave

An ancient formula used

To dominate nihilist dogs

To break their strongest fangs

And then leave them dying

Power of defeat

Makes you wake up

But only like a half

51% dead

Half zombie, half man

Stench begins to grow

As the deepest feelings

Turn to the coldest lust

Parents love their sons

The father brings food for all

Sick creatures, parasites and the great whore

Happy life goes on

Far away we waste our feelings

Blind for a lifetime

To kill us, far away from the light, my partners

Almost Dead my friends

Through torture could we find our freedom?

Tenderness / Defecation

Sweetness / Masturbation