Erasure
Sloppy mind;
the worms of the first cape of the coffin’s land are pulolating
‘Cause they have life
(they are believers
who kneel and pray for god. For sake. For god’s sake
Hand that smash all the insects).
Loyal samaritan,
good in what you do And in your insides
there it is; all the work that you’ve been doing, so much effort
Your organs are rotten.
Hey worm
you are melting with the rest of your dear brothers -and sisters- in the
sacred orgy.
Laid-back limbs;
the room is the world and that’s alright
They (the legs) are shaking slowly in a waxed dimension
The others (arms) tie themselves like snakes cupolating.
They feel (the both) out of the scene.
World is the room, nonsense in the air, limbs are there too
but not their boss.
‘Go back to your place! Go back to your home!
We own a can, our precious can.’ -two someone says-
‘Stop the play pretending’ -says another someone-
‘Not a cat. Bitch belongs to the scoop’
The nothing hums a lazy song. Thought the nothing is nothing.
Projected body;
there’s none. It is empty.
They say a ghost sometimes crawls in there. Like house
Like a hautend mansion. Empty like my bag of sunshine and dreams.
It does not work, dump it into the trash.
But they leave it there. Right where it belongs. In the shadow’s corner
It exist, oh yes! It does exist like christmas day.
A house is abandoned. A ghost sleeps when is remembered
And bugs drag their bellies, their anthropods’ leg and
scrach scrach scrach the dry corpse,
The neglected floor. A nauseous feeling. A dying prey. A disgusting predator. Goes unpunished. A buzz starts and grows
And then,
There’s nothing.
the worms of the first cape of the coffin’s land are pulolating
‘Cause they have life
(they are believers
who kneel and pray for god. For sake. For god’s sake
Hand that smash all the insects).
Loyal samaritan,
good in what you do And in your insides
there it is; all the work that you’ve been doing, so much effort
Your organs are rotten.
Hey worm
you are melting with the rest of your dear brothers -and sisters- in the
sacred orgy.
Laid-back limbs;
the room is the world and that’s alright
They (the legs) are shaking slowly in a waxed dimension
The others (arms) tie themselves like snakes cupolating.
They feel (the both) out of the scene.
World is the room, nonsense in the air, limbs are there too
but not their boss.
‘Go back to your place! Go back to your home!
We own a can, our precious can.’ -two someone says-
‘Stop the play pretending’ -says another someone-
‘Not a cat. Bitch belongs to the scoop’
The nothing hums a lazy song. Thought the nothing is nothing.
Projected body;
there’s none. It is empty.
They say a ghost sometimes crawls in there. Like house
Like a hautend mansion. Empty like my bag of sunshine and dreams.
It does not work, dump it into the trash.
But they leave it there. Right where it belongs. In the shadow’s corner
It exist, oh yes! It does exist like christmas day.
A house is abandoned. A ghost sleeps when is remembered
And bugs drag their bellies, their anthropods’ leg and
scrach scrach scrach the dry corpse,
The neglected floor. A nauseous feeling. A dying prey. A disgusting predator. Goes unpunished. A buzz starts and grows
And then,
There’s nothing.