there is a brothel we all choose to live
keeping track of all those who'll receive
the last piece of flesh...
it's such a bless even for those who pray
naked justice will take a bow and stay to watch the final play
...like clay my insignificant touch will spread
blood-red,mixed with stiff lust
and rust
will cleanse away the very last remaining feeling...
a caring priest once told me
as quietly his hand through my zipper consoled me:
''you 'd better watch your mouth,little boy...
its profanity will cost me heaven's joy...
are you prepared to turn your cheek
to satan's horrographic ''sympathie illogique''?''...
his growing shadow engulfed my soul
i prayed to god and saints to fall
before i get a grip of my sensation
and dive into self-realisation...
from then and now on
i wrote some staff on soul-surgery
i escaped my false purgatorium
and chose to live in life's sanatorium...
Εξαιρετικό!
xoxo