I can not go to hardware stores or department stores, because I piss the W.C
And I stay sleeping in the exhibition beds.

Once I wrote on the wall of a government office
"You look for muse, you pay with poetry" and I was arrested for the prudent time of 13 minutes
I pretended to be steel, and surprise, to be crystal
Even the wind cuts me and the rain are needles that are stuck on my shoulders

I do not like books, coffee or cigars
The first depressed me, the second I despair and the third hurts his absence
I have several maxims, but I never apply any
I was once thrown out of a museum because I tried to enter a painting by Dürer
And although this is on everyone's lips, nobody ever hears what I say
I have had the creed of insomniacs, and I have knelt before gods that I doubt
I cut the head of a goat on the day I became a man
I'm friends with buffoons, beggars and prostitutes
And enemy of work, effort and exercise
Nothing consoles me, and three times a day I wish I was dead
I write songs to the flowers because they can not choose not to love me
I've never lost an argument, or at least I've never admitted it
And the day I die, you must believe me,
No one will tell you about this.