What makes The Mountain
out of a man?
No matter what befalls
The Mountain..
The Mountain firmly stands.

You will not see
The Mountain
swaying back and forth.
The Mountain
leans upon nobody else..
because he is
his own support.

Nothing perturbs him..
not a hurricane
and not a tempest …

What happens to you
when you only choose
The One? Well..
Only so many bullets
fit into the cylinder..
of this one-eyed
blindly loving
desperado’s gun.

How many hares are there
for us to chase?
How many horses are there
that we wish
to bet on in a race …

Fair maidens, look away!
At least the ones of you
who might be
undercover posers..
The realest ones among you,
on the other hand..
perhaps look closer?

For, it is true..
My cock, in all its glory,
now is hanging out
for all to see.
As I piss my mighty …

Oh yes,
dark priestess..
I shall be
your sacrificial
little lamb..
but only
if you’ll be
my naughty
little bitch..
my most
devout and zealous
psychophantic little
crimson witch.

I’ll gladly take
a slitting from you
to my throat..
I’ll feel the joyful pain
of the serrated …

You either die as Batman..
Or live long enough
to see yourself become
The Joker.
And though much changes
in the process..
Still, one truth remains
a universal constant.

Both Batman
and The Joker
happen to be down
(the worst)
for bad goth bitches..
who wear vantablack mascara
and don …

yes, it’s true..
there are plenty
of other fish
in the sea..
but not a whole
lotta good
this tautology
does me.
for, I am a fisherman
not quite of pisces..
but rather
of women
you see.

but only the fishies
with a heart of gold,
the toughest scales …

Ну.. и что в итоге?
куда нас гордость твоя
безграничная..
тишина твоя
психопатическая
привела?
к лазурной мечте?
похоже нахуй..
ближе к засухе и тьме.

хуй знает кто там
я тебе..
да и мне то
впрочем уже похуй,
если честно,
и на сердце
и на душе.

ну а ты сама,
«подруга …

However hard you try
to put this feeling
into words..
and even if you are
the greatest
of all poets..
still you’re damned
to hopelessly
fall short.

In just about
all languages
it even has its own..
but whether
you may call it as
любовь or кохання,
love or …

Within his eye
is a reflection
of a path not taken.
Whether it truly were
for our best..
or if we were, in fact,
sorely mistaken.

Unlike The Eye of God,
The Eye of man
can never truly discern..
his duty is to reap
whichever fruits that grow..
out of …

“Whaaat?”
She exclaims,
as she catches
me stare.
“Nothing..”
I tell her,
as if I don’t care..
But is “nothing”
The All
of what I see there?

Is “nothing”
the culprit
for warmth
that I feel..
as she’s yapping
non-stop
about everything
into my ear.

Is “nothing”
to …