My nights in the shelter
Me, I spend my nights in the shelter. From everything. Sheltered from you, in spite of your suavely mellow voice that's so concerned with radio, hygienic and concerned.
rupture
Me, I spend my nights in the shelter. From everything. Sheltered from you, in spite of your suavely mellow voice that's so concerned with radio, hygienic and concerned.
Behind the computers, the lyrics look absolute. What a beautiful anonymity not to face oneself!
Why is it that when I walk into a theater, do I want to leave? Why when I randomly open a book, do I look forward to closing it?
Sorry, coming through! You have no right to stop me from passing! I have nothing to reproach myself for. I've always been in order with the administration. I'm sorry!
It's not about making love, it's about sexuality. Ah your values, your values, if you could put them where I think for once!
To remain silent would be a decent way of stifling thought, which will always be the painful expression of an order given to oneself by one's own mental bourgeoisie.
As Victor says about the spider and the nettle - not Dr. Frankenstein, but his friend old Hugo - I love hate because we hate it.
My great adaptability is an absolute violence to me. I hate any relationship that forces me to do so. Rare is the one that goes the way I want it to.
Artists, the real ones who would have something to say, hate the world and won't say anything to it, right? And it's much better that way, isn't it?
When you're shocked by anything that exists, it's because you've made up your mind about the world but you don't know anything about it.