..and we used to play
like mad children
running from a fire
and death knew no
meaning and the words
we heard left us
only bleeding..
play it louder
harder faster..
oh how the feedback
became our only friend
and I the Tom Cat..
he how had no lover
decended like flies
surfacing from the
concrete..destined to
smash as many guitars
homeless living on
the street..pennyless
still and the afterbirth
made real..was it so..
being destructive..
oh so in love with
self-abuse..the
glicerene was just
like a slice of pie
slipping down from
the heavens..
and so it was..
orgasmic fantastic
drippings off the
ceilings..mirrors
full of blood..
just a taste of
the surreal..
aufen den tod..
