(Translation by the Author)
Sweet is the flesh of the dead
Fresh and ever-growing
Blossoming forth from rot into the air
Revamped by Photoshop, enhanced,
Are the Odysseys and Iliads of the mummified,
Sung by made-up anchors.

Like flies in a spider web
Paralyzed and glued to the net
We now watch the end of days,
When the Dead have arisen from their graves
Are not resting in the merciful folds of the earth
But working and yielding moneys to celebs
The fragrance of the make-up and perfumes
Overcomes the foul smell of reality.