| Find
|
| words fade above the snow
|
| the carved out somebody stitch
|
| the carver’s all who waves surrender
|
| through all tempers looking back
|
| the skin begins to crack
|
| those ever double jointed blamers
|
| Fine
|
| closed off no power the wheel inside no peace
|
| no feeling all disease around security
|
| Eyes
|
| devised the cycles find
|
| a call that’s never caught
|
| beneath the locusts timed decision
|
| Find
|
| the vice grips never freed
|
| a crease upon one’s debt
|
| and never paying forward
|
| Hate
|
| what will we won’t be late
|
| what will be left today
|
| when nothing left to beg the moral
|
| Fate
|
| what is it left can’t you say
|
| who will be left to pay
|
| when ugly crippled eyes remain
|
| Fine
|
| closed off devoured the meat inside of me
|
| in freeing all afraid of life eternity
|
| Eyes
|
| burning of sorrow deep craving inside no teeth
|
| holding on nothing left to be believed
|
| Fear
|
| what will we want with fear
|
| the time of bombing near
|
| with nothings left to have or hope for
|
| Pain
|
| what is there left to say
|
| an ancient plan to pay
|
| with blood and shit tomorrow
|
| Shame
|
| we will be learning shame
|
| until we play the game
|
| that in the end will bring disorder
|
| Race
|
| what will be left to say
|
| when nothing is the same
|
| and all this shit goes over
|
| «Where you… nowhere… like you left… go… where you»
|
| Steping out behind mask
|
| kiss the mercantile abscess
|
| run behind (teach fertile?) blood
|
| the fingernails are dirty
|
| Face the combination loss
|
| and go toward the final cost
|
| a cripple’s desk a lost foothold
|
| Suffering at the end scene
|
| Fine
|
| closed off devoured the meat inside of me
|
| in freeing all afraid of life eternity
|
| «Get in line… no you can’t my my… happily remove one body… nearly knew.
|
| It’s not dead… every way it’s not lice ladden where you going to go» |