it hit the pipe, the saliva spat out of me
blood from my torn shoe was ripped off
the hands were torn with the color of the knut
the lips were torn with the purple of the knut
it cannot be torn, the crotch has a shoe
our hands are hideously dirty
let us tug and scratch them more and more and more
it's a lousy thing
it's a lousy thing really
the bloody carnage of humanity is food
the world is quiet
it is silent
leaves rustle
Whisper trash
sing the fairy tales of the world
how a brother is tearing out his brother's heart
tight rows of sensitive sphincters
stubborn and impressionable facial grimaces
the last blast is about to sound
a cannon volley is about to growl
it's all going to shit

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