The sky is torn open, a spectral liquid emanates from it
My sandals raise the dust of the bombs
My legs hurt, I have trampled the night, the ages
The wind brought me the news of the graves

A church rises up, like a brass knuckle
The faithful are flies attracted by the sky
The door is wide open, the wind roars in vain
The red clouds vomit an avalanche of bile

He entered without a sound, he stands prostrate
Near the altar and his head rests in his dirty hands
The mute Devil listens to the organ begging him
He enjoys every empty chair, every sepulchral silence

The faithful have left God to join the banks
Of a tormented river, and bathe in a Time
Deserted by the angels, in which the candles blacken
The sun can’t help it, for it only burns for a moment

The sky is stale, a profane perfume emanates from it
My sandals have walked on the concrete of the great capitals
I have caressed the cheeks of believers and sages
But where was God, where was his son? The nave moans

White agony, seconds spent eye to eye
With an angel fallen in dust, passion of a bitter Christ
Books scratched with the sweat of History – this infernal God
Who blows in the churches and extinguishes the lights