A Citizen of the world,
I leave you a legacy ruins,
Dust from dust and rot from rot.
That's all I have.
Don't blame me.
What to say? The century turned out to be lousy. Amen.
As a population, I transmit
to you a jackals, which howling about the insufficiency rotting meat,
political prostitutes with dollars for breakfast.
Devastated streets and bloody splashes, children's agony in cesspools, the vomit of a bloodless democracy, lousy golfers, hunters for rotten meat, business on bones of all shades. I have nothing to say in my defense.
The seedling of hatred, when everyone screams on the same note, I bequeath to you.
Somewhere between that century and this,
Your citizen died, Europe, all alone, at two o'clock in the afternoon,
in a close circle of his systems and discoveries,
filled with self-esteem,
having inherited debts in the Natural Science Shop,
mourned by world history,
covered by a landslide of scientific materialism,
having abandoned medicine. Who forgotten latin lessons and having outlived himself,
is quite possible.