he cross pulled from his chest Raises a welt, leaden in every limb
Sleep can watch for seizures
The legless man had directed him to a window Window like blind eyes probed the mud The minutes that were left Ran across his throat stuffed with cotton And his mouth could hear the distant splashes
A fever and his hand is worse In the silent film days
He must remain an enigma
They climbed three flights of stairs to the night Like a hundred pieces of glass There were numerous outstretched hands throwing shadows, A pair of shadows Holding the three cornered hat of a cardinal
We move on to snake venoms
Christ would spit on you And that's who you remind me of Beneath a musty green The wound appears to be dyingTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
