The ever-stimulated clitoris of God, swollen in black pus Pops in distorting starvation And their Mother of One, full of pricks are her hands, In a half-naked stance And Her womb lacerated as a treat to this Mass
She excels with her head As the foul-mouthed breath, When She vomits and turns the pricks black Her rotten ol’ teeth, mix of yellow n’ green are carving a Cross on his genital parts
The vomit is ooze, filth, putrid and ill A disciple in orgies, Heaven-flicted travesties. Chokes the Art of Man. Human Art, porn of God
The clitoris of God, a Man-sized charlatan With the hair as a thorn and a poem up his shaft
Man is chained to his lack of beauty and terror The once colorful gardens, now an ill-painted canvas, Now a bestial crown, a laurel of Pain
Sperm is poured down the gal’s panting throat, warms her pulsating chest To mutilate his prick, to mute his slutty screams, To take a grasp of his clit and pluck it off with virtue
The dark - vested festivity, all in playful inequity, The celestial excitements Then the God-making process meets an end with no cause, And the echoes of white brasses deluging me
The glorification of flaws The humble inversion of birth, The gradual dismissal of heartbeat and Man is as rusty as ever, a foe needs repel his allies The Host needs embrace His verminsTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
