There is a ledge somewhere set against a deadly precipice which Spring’s nostalgic winds never reach. It overlooks the confluence every sewer built by man. I stand naked and erect on this rock scarcely wide enough for my bare feet to rest flat. I watch the fluids below roll and fold. All of my lovers past and future present themselves naked in that muck, pulsating like eggs. A thousand epigones below cry: “Only to live, to live, to live…”Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
