Cloistered in a rotten dungeon

full of rats, excrement, rottenness.

Confined, isolated of the light, immobile,

with tied chains,

without treated mercy,

with iron a fire marked,

covered by their dress of wounds,

with inseparable worms on him self,

festering rivers of pus,

segregating floods of infection;

Vomiting his smell the inanimate innocent

screaming he questions "what I did make "

Disturbed, dismembered,

cruelly throttled,

bled, violet,

fragmented with hundred of instruments,

suffocated, knifed,

dug in their bowels;

In the rotten dungeon the divided parts

of the inanimate innocent it questions :

"what we did make".