Sleeping on a little grave, happy, thoughtless, until you show up. "What's mine is mine, and what's yours was mine." No, I say, that's not true. "What's true is mine, and what's mine is mine." And now my hands are not my own. We long for your hair, your eyes, your lips. We'd cut ourself apart in order to get a hint of your identity. We don't care for the substitution they offered themselves. It is clear, they were right with the initial effort. They thought they could throw us out away, like such garbage.
"I survived abortion;"
Dream group: The Spaceape on VOX, Burial/Kode9/The Bug on mix, FlyLo live synths & drum programming, Justin Broadrick live guitar, Dave Cochrane live bass, Ted Parsons live drums.
Send them rolling along down the street, send them flying out the window, send them hurtling to the sewers rapid currents, send them through the windshield, through the door, through the wall, through the gates. Send them all through, piece by piece, one by one. Send them into dust filled coffins, bury them quick, and tell no one. Send them right into the packs of dogs, covered in juice from bleeding steaks. Send them right into the water, gasping for breath, and take turns shooting him until his arteries fill with sea water. Send them into space where they can't even hear a sound until they hear the life leak out their eyes. Send them into the flame so dense that they feel their bones twist and shout for them. Send them hurtling into gehenna, with such a neverending plummet, that they almost crave to land in the land of punishment; send them flying up, up, high, higher, hoping they crash upon heaven and dash their brains all over the clouds. Send them through life, confused, alone, scared, naked, stripped down to pieces and remains. Send them along, send them. And send them again.
