The primary nature
of the perverted consciousness.
So nebulously
It looks,
And straightforwardly
It lies.

The perverted consciousness
Moaning about the past,
About purity.
When it hasn’t yet been born,
When it hasn’t yet been monstrous
Among the purity.

Like the armless monster
With the crippled trunk
Wriggling upon the stone floor
Of a stone cube,
That is indeed
The perverted consciousness.

Transparent arms it has,
With them embracing itself.
The perverted consciousness
Is lustful for caring death.

The primary nature
of the perverted consciousness.
So verisimilar
Suffers,
So unpretentious
It seems.
Makes going blind,
makes going mistrustful.
Repulsive and Nebulous,
It misses
For what it has
Never had.

The perverted consciousness
Moaning about the past,
About purity.
When it hasn’t yet been born,
When it hasn’t yet been monstrous
Among the purity.

Transparent arms it has,
With them embracing itself.
The perverted consciousness
Is lustful for caring death.

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