The anniversary of your Death-face
Your quick-step and your Death-strut
Violence resides in get-me-mine eyes
Violence, put into a box in yr head and stored
There just for me
This was a mixed fruit year
There are no horses, no mussels to reflect upon
Only nights and splinters of a different kind
Oh your free flow and huff and puff
Belong not to a pre-Alpine mountain setting
But to streets of marble and gum
Somewhere else...you dared
To confiscate my business...dare
I strut now where our rivers almost touched and where
My land is substantial, without the thudding
Of your horse-heels?
My God, the delight
Delight, delight at the dawning of another
Severing, the smell of rice in the pot
It's kind of okay
Where it is I am
The tunnels delete the mountain base
She's delightful...has the confidence of a guardian
Angel embellished her?
The tea dance
That tea dance...would you wear your mask for me?
Pull on that face for me?
Our studies, our chosen subjects
Will...take us towards Love
Can...end only in one Place
The fact that Fat Jack was nearly murdered means no
More to me than the one who nearly murdered the swine
So I am ejected, a rare passion and an unfelt ease have
Me in turmoil
This catastrophe got my wires burning in
The Bauhaus for a time
The English perspective is all wrong
It is such a disease