you fuck like a racehorse! it's your wedding day, say: yes you want to be pollinated frays of friction far too sacred we survive between our hunger dig our heads into the water memorize your casket, your mother patterns the space between your legs, i grab what's good of you you pluck fruit from my endless head re-arrange them to make your salt sweat bite snakes down for better shelter fridge your orgasm, make it colder we put our blood in bags, we don't want water and you hold me close inside the slaughter and you look so much better without that shit in your hair i mean, saddles if you need them, but i could ride you bare and you can swallow shotguns if you want to there are bullets in your paintings, if you want them there are hooks to hang your kill there are floodboards rising upward fields our fathers fled from, and bedrooms we don't dare go to i would like a word with you! you can swallow shotguns if you want to and you can shed the lions from your songs take the blankets off, show me under your clothes: the tattoos you don't have, but believe me, your body knows you can swallow shotguns if you want to it's your wedding day, say: yes aprons or rifles, anarchist? sleep in the slaughterhouses? quilts quiet made from our spit? i am letting all you horses go (you are better wild my arms are coming out)Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
