The world is like a kitchen
Our desires and hopes are cooked
Our rights are eaten
Even our flesh is eaten
By those who rule the world
The dome of the sky is like an extractor fan
But it is not capable of sucking away
Sorrow, disgrace, and savagery
It only sucks away the smell of cooking hopes — erasing their traces
The heavens have lost their power
And they are very far away
There are many light-years between us
… Wake up from your thoughts, poet
Turn off the light
The electricity bill is too high this month
And those who eat our flesh
Eat so much that their stomachs cannot take it
They vomit on us
We must escape from this kitchen
To the kitchen of Hell
That is, to the cauldron of boiling pitch
Our cooking pots are empty anyway
