The City

I am an effort mirror.
I'm up to this contempt exceedance
Of a metropolis,
Obviously modern,
Because every known taste
Has been avoided in the furniture
And in the outsides of the houses,
As well as in the layout of the city, of the city.

Here you will not discover the least sign of every movement of superstition.
They ensure it's more obvious,
And speech is reduced to the simplest expressions.
Live with millions of people who have no need of knowing one another,
Condemn their education, their trade and their hope in such similarity,
That the duration of the lives must be several time shorter than
According to some insane statistics.
This encased people on the contempt.

From my window, from my window,
From my window I see new ghosts rolling though thick, everlasting, cold smoke,
Our shadow on the walls, our summer night.
You, your melodies... You, your melodies... You, your melodies
In front of my cottage, which is call to the end of my heart.
Since everything here resembled death without tears.
Our acting daughter and the servant,
Our desperate love, our desperate love, our desperate love
And the pretty, pretty cry,
Cry in the mud of this street.

Death without tears, death without tears,
Death without tears, death without tears.

The entire universe is now open to us!