Et c'était comme quatre coups brefs que je frappais sur la porte du malheur.
Albert Camus, L'Étranger

I am the scale
You are one pan
Your deeds are
the other one

I am here
to keep the world
in its equilibrium
and guide you towards fire

Here I wait for you
No one shall judge you but me
No one shall use those tools
but me

A stage and a tool
to release us all
your body a cell
your mind as an aversion

My robe is stained
with soil and blood
all that is left of you
is a gift to my father.

Chorus:
Words of wisdom
are gathered within you
all flows through your veins
all of a wrong moral.

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