Give me the wrinkle of your brain
Sound frame and a thing you call god
Madness and the future kill your morn tongue
I would devouringly end up by devouring today rather than sacrificing tomorrow
Shut your hand Shut your face
A shame of full brain creeps up from the throat exposes left brain of tomorrow to the gallows
Smells like mad muscle and mannequin
The dark morning roars so,
Mr. eight hundred stoned statures, are you healed yet
One stroke of horizontal line slashes 360°
Above is hell, below is haunt of water sound
Squeeze out the desire liquid of the end
Living desire bordering heart making liquid of the desire
Lovely one eyeballed split three layers of skin
And an endless awakening sound
The onlookers only cover their lips and run around to escape with licking their tears
The truth is the silver in this hand and hungry or evil demons bang their heads down
Love and the organs in my hands
A sound tape shines despairing color and goes round endlessly
The landscape talks to my organs that it's going to skewer me
-a psychoanalytical army-
Look at me rather than tracing my fuckin' scars
How big are you gonna let me out
