(dedicated to Abhinanda)



A winteryear, five years before the future

Just after the end of history

There's a headless vulcano

Couloring the sidewalk

Its smile is cut off

The sewer drinks its altarwine



The penis penetrates

The modern virginity

In the castle

Of humanity



In civilisation halls

Empty words echoes between the walls

As champagne swills down dried throats

Dance to the songs of living dead

They knock at your splintered doors



Stripped dignity

A creature rapes itself

Here falls the belief

In humanity



Men weep and women die

Men breed and women sleep

The library goes up in flames

Nothing left but trivial remains

Lines drawn with greedy perfection

The words is on the phone - an infection

The gun lights itself a cigarette

To celebrate the loss



I rather live for something

Than die for nothing

If the river runs nearby

Don't count me in