It's difficult to resist the market, my love
Consequently we go in search of revolutions and artistic flair
This is why the avant-garde was ok,
At least until â66
But now the end goes without saying
It's inevitable
Anna thinks she's succumbing to the Market
She doesn't know because she graduated
Years ago she believed in the fight,
Now she is paralyzed in the street
She pretends to be dead
She writes with spray on the walls
That the catastrophe is inevitable
She sees the end in the subway,
In the whore who sits next to her
In the tired guy
In his Dior bag
He reads the End in the bags of the Chinese
In the days spent at the shopping mall
br/>In oral sex, in his no longer exciting her
She sees the End in me selling records
In this horrendous way
She sees the end credits in Home and Freedom 
It's difficult to resist the Market, Anna knows it
Once she had a stupid dream:
an armed terrorist group
Now it's a fragile body
that knows it is dead and dreams of Africa.
Drunk, she composes poems about the Catastrophe
She sees the end in the subway,
In the whore who sits next to her
In the tired guy
In his Dior bag
The market dies from self-consumption
It's not a sin, and it's not Marx & Engels.
It's extinction, it's a little boy in agony.
You see the end in me spending money
And time in a Nintendo
Inside the station bar
And I haven't called you for years.

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