Since I cease to be when my body dies?
A bitter indignation boils within me!
My bowels bloat! I am racked with fearful retchings
That strive to rive apart the fastening of my bones!
Alone I die! And I pant in vain for breath and there is something in me that is not satisfied;
More alone than the strangled babe that its murderous mother buries at the bottom of a dunghill,
Among the broken dishes and dead cats, in earth that is full of fat pink worms!
(He tries to get up.
Tête-d'or: What are you doing? Stay where you are!
Come, you cannot get out of bed!