Many a man thinks that life is merry,
That every day should be lived to the fullest
They think that even when the world is burning
you should waltz your way to the other side
They forget the promise of existence:
All there is will always end, and
There is no dance; no competition
There is always the option to simply walk
The world will not be less scorched for it
All we see, all we are, ignited in and out
This torch will never burn out
Why run as rats in the obscene race of life
when the mad walk as men above crawling stains
Many a man thinks that life is merry,
I know that mine is not a performance
So I will not dance I will not race I
Will breathe the obscene and I walk to my bitter end
Maddened and drunk with a bottle of booze in my hand.