In the depths of a fruitless nightlife
Sitting calmly on a cold bench,
Looking towards this compulsive endless sky.
If I had a son he would be with me,
His tiny trembling hand in mine.
I would teach him a strange sense of humor,
To laugh out loud and laugh loud cynical whenever he feels loved.
I would instruct him to be cruel and deaf.
I would advise him to never say goodbye.
I would hate him to protect him and reward his solitude.
He would grow up and become a sorrowful man—
A thief but not a master;
A starving mind with hysterical tears in his merciless eyes;
Each time just the adulterer,
Nor the lover, nor the friend.
If I had a son he would be angry
'Cause I spared him all the lullabies
And read him headlines instead.
I would drag him to a nightclub
And pour him cheap Champagne.
This walking mess in constant denial of how twisted he really is.
I would teach him self-interest and how to ruin lives.
In the depths of a fruitless nightlife
Walking calmly towards the moon.
If I had a son, my son would be like you.