L'étreinte du chanvre

I'm the noose
The deisre for me
Has no limit
You come into to me
We wheel in an
Endless abyss
The pain is so good
I feel my trachea
Being compressed
And finally be grinded
The death is near
Deep in my throat
My bloddy flesh dies
My entrails will be putrified
My soul of waste
Will soon see the gate
Of eternal suffering