The brothers who died in Vietnam will redeem My generation's faults. As for my senescent bones, They compel the dry hands of my self-esteem To pile up the stones I will throw at what my son owns. One day, I will lay, on the altar of decadence, The guns of society's contradiction So that the poison of sinful oblivion May not prevent you from taming my omnipotence. Poems on the origin of decadence.