I feel like a scabrous dog, consternated by my horrid scars
Exhausted by the elixir of nostalgia.
Hungry for anger
Exuding rage at each track, we are the witnesses of the dead
I never dreamt of what you could see, because only in Sarna I can trust now,
I feel like an errant tumulus, preaching in the language of the dead.
Companions of the infested rats, propagating indolence and pestilence
Lustrum of decadence, morality expulsed from reasoning
Irreverence and violence, give way only, because only in sarna I trusted

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