The city digs deeper into the damp air.
Come. Come closer, little doll.
Red lights blink and play,
tempting you to sell what is left.
Lift the skirt, show the flesh.
This is just meat. A sinful protest.
We are the lovers, we are the rouges.
Metal tourniquet infected into our veins.
It is our hell, after world's end.
Destroy all these faces. Smash the bones.
„Come home, God,“ we cry.
We curse ourselves to the final beat,
line up, trade our decayed lungs.
These mouths are never full,
Grinding teeth of greedy little flies.
For rusted scars and silent wars,
We claim the sunset with the hail,
While the Death takes his sail.
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