(no subject)
Of machines and vice we know nothing.
In this world there can be but two things,
positive and negative charged spins
and blasting through walls with fists
and mallets.
Nausicaa of the valley of wind would not approve
wilst the windmills spin behind her shiny hair -
she knows what she has,
and its not hope.
She has soil and wood and stone and sheep
and grain too, of course.
And thats all she wants, thats all paint would
ever want.
Ah, the wonder of paint, so pliable and sticky, but
washable with water.
Singing single notes I can skip, she skips with me.
We hum together, she and I.
I have to make sure my bowler hat stays
firmly on my head,
I can't let it go.
She wears nothing on a beach in Cuba
or Trinidad or Puerto Rico,
where she sits on the beach and washes away.
I can wash away too,
when you don't see me lying here
bleeding from five, or is it six?
wounds in my side.
Its almost like Longinus did it -
almost.
That would at least make it tolerable.
In this world there can be but two things,
positive and negative charged spins
and blasting through walls with fists
and mallets.
Nausicaa of the valley of wind would not approve
wilst the windmills spin behind her shiny hair -
she knows what she has,
and its not hope.
She has soil and wood and stone and sheep
and grain too, of course.
And thats all she wants, thats all paint would
ever want.
Ah, the wonder of paint, so pliable and sticky, but
washable with water.
Singing single notes I can skip, she skips with me.
We hum together, she and I.
I have to make sure my bowler hat stays
firmly on my head,
I can't let it go.
She wears nothing on a beach in Cuba
or Trinidad or Puerto Rico,
where she sits on the beach and washes away.
I can wash away too,
when you don't see me lying here
bleeding from five, or is it six?
wounds in my side.
Its almost like Longinus did it -
almost.
That would at least make it tolerable.