Táimíd caílte. Cá bhfuil ár ndochas? D'imigh sé uainn.
Cá bfhuil an misnéar? Tá sé ag teacht lena laimh trí thine ag glaoch orainn. Seo é ár grioch. Tá ísle brí ar an domhain. An domhain ceathrá. Is amadáin a bhí ionann.
Ag diál ar gcioch an striapaigh nimhiáil. Ag eisteacht leis na guthanna sólásacha agus iad ag stróiceadh ár ngéaga dáinn go mall.
Eist le binneas ceol na mairbh. Seo é an deireadh scéal an domhain.

[We are lost. Where is our hope? It's left us. Where is the missionary? Here he comes with his hand on fire summoning us. The world is depressed. The fourth world. We were the fools sucking on the tit of a poisoned whore. Listening to the soothing voices while they slowly cut off our limbs. Listen to the harmonies of the dead. This is the last story of the world.]