The unbearable mundanity of being

The unbearable mundanity of being Yes the strength of what is eternally equal a burden on our very lives An empty discourse in favour of an order that grants nothing but conformity A thinking and acting dedicated to arrogance to the sublimation of what he does not want to change because he is too stable The same inertia that every day takes a life and returns a death No here there is no passion no crime there is nothing but a method to try not to perceive subtle changes There are no more poets or philosophers nor even people this whole vast world is made up of masked faces in silence before the very drama that in their dreams they would like to realize