The chance itself gives us the entry of access

To the Universe of insight where they keep the keys to love;

And through habit we cast a look at old addresses

Where bunch of mistakes gnaw vulgar vows.

We, like stockbrokers, fly towards the booty by the broom,

And frankly confessing to the weight of diamonds and gold

We dig the grave by a boring machine in our own room.

And we put all our efforts into a mercenary goal.

It’s convenient to get into emptiness of sugar holes

Where dwarfs of joyful delight

Destroyed spiteful estrangement’s walls

And shine with the sun of improbable light.

Such is the encyclopedia of our eruptions of errors;

And to erect errands we are enticed by Eros.