Sufferings come from torturing
Whip-hits, the power of nasty order
During examination my squeaky bones are free
My cartilages shake under the strikes
I’m only moaning because my body is
My sighs, my shakes prove
That I’m still conscious
Yet, I’m my self’s
My bones are not free from the Lord’s hits
But my bones are unbreakable
And if he takes them away from me, he will see
Because he will only hold the dead body of my bones
Yes, my bone like a dead dog, dog
Dog’s hearts beat, dead ones don’t
So it’s not even a dog
I’m only moaning because my body is
My sighs, my shakes prove
That I’m still conscious, yet I’m my self’s, yet I’m my self’s

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