I walk along the white corridor
surrounded with dirty ghosts...
their hands full of loneliness
hurt the aestethic of my soul...
I have no compassionate gun
to teach them the ex nihilo state...
I walk along the white corridor
beset with smell of misery
my sense of hatred so polite
and politicaly correct spittles...
my boots are polished
my heart barbed wire
beheaded barbie-doll...
white corridor my hope
corpses,long forgotten kingdom !
listen my son to the pure machine !
don't look at me trashcan native
you make my soul dirty ....
I walk along the white corridor
jet black serenity and fresh red venison...
No comments :
Post a Comment