When You Live as a Boy - text
the son gets the crap
Here, where the mothers are pimps blackmail daughters to sell smack
to the judge and to the priest.
You play a game like a cricket in the garden of blood
"And when you live as a boy you better shut your mouth
Or when you live as a boy you give them a scent of blood or they break your neck"
Literature is dead because you know everything about death anyway.
Hearts are firegutted hooks tar benzoel and murder-oxide.
Fire's our blood
The minister of law and order is dancing on our grave. And rave!
Decade of rottening nicely and self-enjoyable.
The mothers of courage try to play their role in perfection but their seats are cheap
and the lodge is empty anyway.
Masonic lies hang like cobwebs from a celling of baroque stucco
sometimes angry young men climb up and hang on ceiling peeing on the lodge's chairs
buy they are empty anyway.
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