The disorder is rare, you are selected
Give in to the pain, and now listen to your calling
From all the openings of the body
Tumble rivers of pus and shattered hopes
The stream of matter flows smoothly
Surrender the ugliest to us, your pointed eyes stare blindly
Maybe it's just in your imagination
That you wander around like a living corpse
Maybe it's something you dream about
Like a skin-dead bundle of bones from which pus infinitely flows
Whether it is some kind of birth or abortion
Is not known for sure, but only that the pain will not be short