| She’s pouring brown gold
|
| Into her veins
|
| She lost her own way
|
| Years ago
|
| Her sister calls her
|
| From the dark side of the night
|
| And she falls with that call
|
| It’s the only way out
|
| She tells me «I love you»
|
| But it’s only a game
|
| So she slides through the silence
|
| She’s fixing her time
|
| To fall back into darkness
|
| Again with a smile
|
| «Don't touch me, I’m falling»
|
| She laughs in the night
|
| «Don't touch me, I shall return
|
| When the wheel comes around
|
| You see, we’re all born to suffer
|
| We’re all born to fall
|
| In a gry shaded world
|
| That calls us to zero»
|
| Her mothr mouth slits
|
| Her father lies taken
|
| She touches my body
|
| But I crouch up to die
|
| Down the Ramblas we’re walking
|
| In Reykjavik we’re talking
|
| The snow is moon-cold
|
| The room freezes over
|
| She’s reading a book
|
| She’s finished it years ago
|
| She’s tearing up paper
|
| She’s tearing up life
|
| But she only starts thinking
|
| When her blood is brown
|
| Gold is the colour
|
| She promised me she’d wear
|
| But Christ’s Blood turns black
|
| His body she wears
|
| But she dips Him in waters
|
| Confession of faith
|
| It’s hard to believe you
|
| When you spit in my face
|
| I don’t want to touch you
|
| I don’t want to lie
|
| In the brown-red gold slumber
|
| You’ve taken to ride
|
| I remember I was thinking
|
| Only of you
|
| But you shattered me nightly
|
| You broke all your rules
|
| I found myself falling
|
| And then
|
| And then
|
| Through the wreckage of this parched life
|
| And the pain of the next one
|
| I said «fucking over
|
| All of this is shit»
|
| But still the wind calls
|
| «Imperium»
|
| When you rage at the Conqueror
|
| You only rage at yourself
|
| When you torture the Anointed
|
| You only torture yourself
|
| And you’ve listened to Piaf
|
| But not to the Christ
|
| So you sparkle the seconds
|
| Then dissolve into mist
|
| And the fog closes in
|
| And you think about Crowley
|
| You think it’s a game
|
| But the game is just you
|
| When shall you stop hiding
|
| In the heart of your night?
|
| When the cold tramway beckons
|
| Where the cold tramway stops
|
| And — Christ — I was thinking
|
| Of your bent arm
|
| «It is blue on the inside
|
| It is blue on the outside»
|
| You said, and then you buckled
|
| As if you might die
|
| There’s no point in living!
|
| There’s no point in life!
|
| And sometimes I hear you
|
| At the back of my mind
|
| And a golden door opens
|
| But no light appears
|
| There’s spit on the bridle
|
| And there’s blood on the saddle
|
| And you sleep in the shit
|
| You’ve shut in yourself
|
| And Christus is Equus
|
| And Equus is God
|
| And His name flies with fury
|
| And the wind cuts through you
|
| You follow in footsteps
|
| Trod by a flower
|
| Then I wanted to hold you
|
| But You’re destined to fall |