| You lay your head into my lap
|
| I strike your face
|
| The taxi rushes through the night
|
| I’m endlessly far away
|
| Blue soldier moment
|
| Oh sweet, grown-up woman
|
| We’re hovering, gliding in the opposite of home
|
| It is stickily-white, like heroin, thick, and it carries death in itself
|
| Don’t worry, I will not try to sleep with you, I say
|
| Staggering through your Kafkaesque dungeon
|
| One thousand rooms
|
| Losing myself there in your multiplicity and being blissful
|
| Time is stretching toughly like plasticine
|
| It is dark around me
|
| I finally find your bed
|
| Am I torturing you, darling? |
| you ask
|
| We pass away
|
| I’m holding your black curly head in my arms
|
| Breathing heavily and deeply
|
| My heart is running
|
| Oh night, oh grown-up woman, oh heroin
|
| Sticky-white death
|
| I’m choking, craning my neck into the heavy night air
|
| Oh Yoon, your hair, bristly and smoky
|
| I’m inhaling your smell
|
| Our bodies full of sebum
|
| Our lungs blackened
|
| Death is lying in wait
|
| But heaven is where hell is
|
| The hell of decompensation pukes emotion
|
| Pure emotion
|
| Only emotion
|
| Eternal emotion
|
| I am nothing but emotion, no human being, no son, never again son
|
| Only art, purity
|
| Yoon, heroine, the detour has washed me to your shore
|
| Where are you now?
|
| I’m lying here in your arms, in the Glaslights of your brothel
|
| Oh, lock me up in your grown-up heart |