What a towering fraud!
The kind that rape your worlds!
Self-satisfied, in no hurry to devote their significant talent!
Such wise men!
Stares as blank as summer nights,
Red and black, tricolored, golden star-stung steel!
Faces twisted, livid, inflamed
Hoarse guffaws, ablaze, what a brusque revelry!
A violent Paradise of runaway sneers!
But no match for your Fakirs and hackneyed theatrics.
In costumes sewn together with all the taste of a nightmare,
They slip savage slaps and tickle into old chestnuts.
They strut through tragedies filled with every
Brigand and demigod missing from religion and history.
A little avant-guarde here, some three-hankie stuff there.
Master charlatans who use riveting comedy
To transform players and scenes, they use hypnotic hypocrisy
Eyes ignite, blood sings, bones stretch, tears and red rivulets run.
Their clowning, their terror lasts for a minute, or months to go.

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Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.