Lunatics and misfits play with their idiosyncrasies. In their armored rooms, their flowers are carnivores And when their monsters scream too close to the exit, They deliver scorpions and cry mandrakes And airports become bunkers At four in the morning behind a phone. When their voices call turn into revolvers And invite calter by shouting come on! The crazy and flustered when looking in the rain And are drinking the blood of their lost vision And in their eyes-mescal masking their nostalgia. They see the end unfold Due unknown. They see ghosts of kings pinball ruined Spitting love-madness of their nights-cities. They believe they see God come reread Hölderlin And fall back into their cold arms of baby doll. Lunatics and misfits crawl in Borgia Followed old echo of a rock n roll playing Then sink like rats in their suburbs by night, Trying daccrocher a look at their kohl And when their tumbas play sold out, They turn into a dungeon with the mouth in less And as the players are aware beheaded Pick up their chips at the dealers in the area. Lunatics and misfits snapped their placenta And piggyback a pad instead of the brain Then offer tarantulas after of a bazooka By making them dance to the last mambo. They are cautious wolves arm of a second death Stomping in the mud the last flowers of evil. They thought getting drunk songs of Maldoror And now they are collapsing in their animal shade. Lunatics and misfits sacrifice Don Quixote The smoky hotel of their nerve fibers Then they tell their queen, laughing boycott: Loneliness is not a shameful disease. Rebuke thy Valkyries for your waltzing masochistic. My horse called flayed me of a bottom bar And that angel who yelled to me: Come with me, you bastard Invites me to dance the needle of my radar.
Posted on: Fri, 19 Sep 2014 23:48:29 +0000
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