I’m about to drop a remix of this, but I figured a translation would help:

If only I were that plastic bag, hanging in the tree, on a dead branch, in the pale park. (0:22) Just now he was lying on a roof, and before that in the gutter, because he is a plastic bag, free as a bird. (0:43) But I’m not made of plastic, and I’m not hollow, with a hundred and twenty tons, thoughts I’m full. (1:05) Soon the wind will pick him up, and he will go up and down, or he will go upside down, in a hurricane. (1:26) And when he stops living, he is recycled, then the plastic god dismisses his plastic soul. (1:48) But I’m not made of plastic, and I’m not hollow, with a hundred and twenty tons, thoughts I’m full. (2:07) His trajectory is full of curves, like that of a fly, when he flies past the window, of my gloomy office. (2:31) All his thoughts that perish, in the empty nothingness, of his transparent existence, on our draughty planet. (2:52) But I’m not made of plastic, and I’m not hollow, with a hundred and twenty tons of thoughts, I’m full.