Within me there’s such evil, such abyss
To put it out like a cigarette, oh what a bliss
A stench that pervades the room, no room for remorse
And dangling from the ceiling, a stiff, cold corpse
No art in the murder, no thrill and no fun
Beyond the horizon, no beauty in the rising sun
Just that thirst that needed to be quenched, so unsatisfying
Within me all withers, all marvel’s slowly dying
I killed just to kill, down my spine runs a chill
It just keeps on going, keeps on turning like the mill
And once the threshold’s passed, there is no turning back
To the boring old life where the power’s off track
To be God for one day was the initial appeal
But then, as time passed, I just wanted to make them squeal
And each time it grew less fun, the intervals got shorter
The ideas got less high-strung, I started to quarter
Now I’m left a wreck of a man, my heart, my brain, they’re all gone
And I sit cowered in a cell where the sun never shone
I can’t repent, I can’t ask for forgiveness, I don’t want to be liked
So I shall die as the monster I am, with these the last words that I typed
And thus spoke Zarathustra.
Or should he have kept his mouth?
One foot across the line.
It’s all over.