The Funeral

Blood seethed with anger, counting days and nights
Leather over the body, bracelets for bravery
Allienated feelings, locked up with alcohol
Head driven by the motor roar
He was always catched in the act with lust
He always had fear in his eyes
But still he was blaspheming
Sometimes he even wept with a bottle on the hand

There was no day, there was no night
He always the same or without lust

His pleasures and his vacations side by side
He burned by hatred with his family's insults
Sometimes he slept with the dogs
For personal outburst
Laments as poetry
He's always aware like a beast!

There was no day, there was no night
He was the same with or without lust

No tragedy traces then came the day
With that certain everybody has
It's arrived
The day of his Death
Souls come, souls go
With all their Lust in the head
Then the motor ceases the roar
And his life pulse too
But he'll be always in our memory