| Oceans mumble their songs to deaf ears of sands
|
| Mountains guard their dominions until the end of time
|
| Rivers carve hieroglyphs only read by the birds
|
| Lion hunts antelope, hyenas fight over the corpse
|
| Breed then kill or get killed, holy circle of life
|
| Red sun rises again, chokes cold light of stars
|
| I sharpen the knife
|
| Wooden Handle
|
| Bolster, heel
|
| Edge of cold steel
|
| Mirror mirror
|
| Speak to to me
|
| Now the painting is done, bored models dress up
|
| German writer, Asian poet, both expect Nobel prize
|
| New Picasso’s sketch on sale, bids mostly from Japan
|
| Hagia Sophia gets new roof, circus hires new clown
|
| Ballerinas bleed but dance, famous composer gets bald
|
| All music’s already been played, critics are always right
|
| And I sharpen the knife
|
| Wooden handle
|
| Bolster, heel
|
| Edge of cold steel
|
| Mirror mirror
|
| Speak to me
|
| News on breakfast television drown in a shit of lies
|
| UN troops storm Kabul, or Cairo, or Baghdad
|
| That war was wrong but this one is so right
|
| Cure for cancer nearly there- perfect drug, decent price
|
| White smoke covers Rome, habemus papam
|
| Farmer in Montana breeds two-headed cows
|
| I still sharpen the knife
|
| Wooden handle
|
| Bolster, heel
|
| Edge of cold steel
|
| Mirror mirror
|
| Speak to me |