Let us look at each other, implacable meat-eaters all around,
On the lookout for stump flesh, the feast of the vultures.
There is nothing to throw away, we even gnaw the bones,
For fear of not stuffing ourselves enough.
It eats with the hands, the mouth, the eyes, the tail, everything.
I will vomit us,
For having so omitted the beauty of the song of the sirens,
By crucifying them, before even having listened to them.
Defiled with all the lights out,
To let them die after a final breath of life,
One last embrace.
This is how love falls silent,
Leaving room for base instincts.
We have elevated our vices to the rank of art,
We these meat eaters.

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