Apocalyps

Small stories of little fools are delusions of grandeur.

Spade and dirt and heart-shaped flowers are but smirch and rule.

Pierced by thorns and bleeding and to be pigeon-holed is poisonous.

The juvenile's dream is wayward, the reflex comes mumbling.

And some of us are bleeding children

And some of us are bleeding children

And some of us are bleeding children

And so the world will fall.

Ours is a just cause.

Dyptich - Kiss The Anus Of A Black Cat

Honger

I’ve got a hollow inside my stomach
That I can’t seem to fill
With all the things
That I believe

I fill it with mead and I fill it with bread
And I fill it with drink on a
Saturday evening
Till Sunday morning

But I’m still hungry
For something to fill me
Ah, make me whole again
So I won’t be hungry anymore
Anymore

My own neighbour knew wood and skin
He was good with his hands
Always heavy with drinking
My own neighbour

My own neighbour’s wife came home
In the early morning
She grabbed the little girl and
She took off in the half-light
To the Best Western

Now he’s looking for
Something to feel this time
True, give his heaviness
Something involved, oh
Feel this time
True, give his heaviness
Something involved, oh

But if you’re
If you’re coming back
To me lonely
But if you’re coming home
Cold and hungry
I’m gonna die

You’re needing for
You, for my baby
For your whole life
For my lovely
For your fingers, oh

Hunger song - The Middle East (music & lyrics: Jordan Ireland & Rohin Jones)

Lijstje

You write another list

of things you'll probably never do

And you feel your dreams divided

by the median and the mean

Your imagination drying

from a river to a stream

Uit: Fail better - Clock Opera (music: Clock Opera / lyrics: Guy Connelly)