Hesiodi, Opera et Dies, lines 175-202

Never would I in the fifth generation of humans desire to                                175
live, but before to have died, or instead to be born thereafter.
Now it is so that the age is of iron, and never by day do
men cease laboring, miserably, nor in the night is there pause from
perishing. Harsh are the troubles which gods will allot to the humans.
Even the blessings, alike to afflictions, will all be confounded.                       180
Zeus will destroy, though, even this race of articulate people,
when they are born already with gray hairs crowning their temples.
Neither a father to sons is familiar, nor sons with their father,
nor is a guest with his host, nor companion with comrades convivial,
nor will a brother a friend be; as once was the usual custom.                           185
Rather will men dishonor the ones, grown old, who begot them;
always so full of reproaches, they'll blame them with harsh words,
merciless, blind to the gods' cruel vengeance; unable to give back
all that their parents had given to nourish their childhood,
[violent abusers. Another will vanquish another man's city.]                            190
Nor will the grace of the faithful exist, nor of the righteous
nor of the good, but the worker of evils, his hubris and pretense
these they'll venerate. Justice by violence; Shame and repentance
will not exist, but the rubbish will blame his faults on a better
person, belittling him with corrupted remarks and will curse him.                   195
Jealous, together with every miserable, wretched, unkind and
heinous, sadistic, despicable human, he'll congregate, hate-faced.
And, then, towards Olympus, away from the earth's broad pathways
shrouding their elegant bodies in pale white luminous fabrics,
deathless, they'll go forth, leaving behind them the race of the humans,         200
Aidos and Nemesis. All that remains will be pitiful anguish
left for the mortals. Reprieve from misfortune will never abide here.

anew

Better men in a time far in the past, an age
when heads laureled with golden adornment gave
the world order and made glorious sacrifice
to god's grace in their great thanks for a blessed life,
would not recognize this world, or believe their eyes,
cursed witnesses, black windows upon abyss,
the chaoticized hellscape and anarchic void.
A superior man still will arrive and join
what remains of divine justice's right to rule
to lay low the corrupt criminals, harshly cruel,
one by one and without pity or remorse, a god-
like lord, vengeance and wrath, holy extinction's rod
he personifies, fate, death and the tyranny
of unconscionable truth so uncannily.

About L.A.

My phone hasn't rung in a year.
It seems I've been forgotten here,
where the stars don't shine at night
not even when it's clear.

And I go out and dance with the wives
of the stylish young metro guys,
when the moon is a stone's throw away
if you go as the crow flies.

I live in a nightclub, sleep on the floors,
make anonymous love to the girls I adore,
but forget to call the next day,
'cause honestly I was so bored.

And the people I still call my friends
I could count on one finger and then
still have room for one more
because I am the one I meant.

Sitting in the back of the plane,
got the sun in my face through the small double pane
I'm waving goodbye to this town:
I'll never be back here again.

It's better to leave when you're down:
I'll never be back here again.

Horatii Carmen 1.5

Which young boy in a rose garden of blooming flowers

soaked in smelly perfume urges you, Phyrra, now

     in your delicate cavern?

For whom tie you your yellow hair

back in simple restraint? How many times will he

shed tears over the changed fates, and your lack of faith

     and be awed by the waves, rough

with black winds, in his ignorance?

He who now can enjoy you and believe you’re gold,

he who always expects you’ll be in love and free

     from cares knows not a thing of

fallacy. How unhappy those

you lead on like a tease: I, with a picture of

my escape on the church wall, have been hanging up

     soaking clothes that I give the

          potent deity of the sea. 

You Cannot Trust Him If you don't love him

You cannot trust him, if you don’t love him.
The truth is hidden in warm, sweet flesh and
his voice so close to your ears. He whispers
the words you wanted to hear and listen
to, fall asleep to. Be close to him when
the phantoms close in behind the darkness,
the light you recently turned deep down, when
the daemons aren’t your friends around you.

Tomorrow’s sun is already costumed
in fine silk threads. In your blond, dark head you
imagine what isn’t true is true; you
succumb too easily to subterfuge.
The machinations your mind goes through do
perform mean tricks on you while you dream. Soon
the morning comes and you’re still worried you’ll
be unable to say what you mean then.