La Moda No Es Vanguardia

I invent empty prayers, without thirst for faith
Too true to be true, I know
Could it be me, a spy
There among the soulless dead?

Death, that fool, came to get me yesterday
Dressed in black, she came to take my skin
With a flowery skirt, maybe I would have accepted her
She said, 'Little by little I begin'

Fashion is not avant-garde!
I will shout standing
I lost what I never had
I gained what I never deserved and more

The soulless dead want to judge me
Fashion whispers to them what to mourn, they are like that
They have a chalk silhouette for me, those damn ones
For the fashion of merciless hatred