This sun or this morning's star sinks Into the blind spot of temples Would we drift off the defaced map If we rose and dogged its profound plunge We chase ourselves on phantom Legs and the dirt that grows them
If, ransacking the ziggurat's Shabby bricolage of shops, We defile the virgin dust And the chemist's mouldy balm, Overtake the queue of bones For the sanctum's cut-rate bargains, Would for this alone The dome collapse upon us? We chase our past But pass our chase
It is the arcane, glamourous dummies That scan us The arcane, glamourous intercom That hems It's the neon script that reads It's us who are being read. We are almost on display for sacrifice At the counter in no sun.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
