01:03

How empty handed were you today...
As the Redemptor of God wouldn't knock on your door
Nor on God's very door
No one summoned you from a far
Other than a very archaic lyre
And whereas you couldn't hear the muse too well
You preferred to tame yourself
In the company of glue and actors
As though you couldn't attempt yourself
At being theatrical enough
For a funerary procession

Disappointed from your lack of variegation
Not too bothered by the slavery of your eyes
And the sad moisture of your own beauty
Irresponsible
Not prepared to give up
And if so, not for the sake of philosophy
Or 'life' as phenomenologized by the Bible
But rather on account of little jealousy
Lacking in candor, extremely filthy from power soap
Everything perfectly arranged in the room
Just like the week before
As to appear less loveless, less angry
But nothing could be of help to you
Today or then
The Redemptor of God wouldn't knock on your door
On account of a shared death
That you had counted on, since the creation of the world
How empty-handed were you today!
After the realization that
The only grudge you can hold against the Redemptor
Is not God
Or lack of love
But mere childish cowardice
The cowardice of virility, of necessity, of loneliness
Yet tomorrow it will be different
You will await for Redemption somewhere else
In a cafe, or hiding in a library, so immensely unsound
Yet the notes of the Parsifal never change
They're so immanent
That you're suddenly afraid of the Eleatics
And the lack of change
The eternal recurrence
So that your bleeding lens
Might turn into a stone
And become a part of Jerusalem
Lest you dedice to leave and search for a better life
With a world
But it will not help you
If it didn't before.