Encre Marbres
Oh my liver! you'll make me die young.
I go hungry, veins well stocked.
They say my face and my bones look angry, spying each
other, getting worse and worse.
I go from bar to bar, emptying them, and from dusk till
dawn I'll drink as many glasses as you'll fill. Second
class faces, sensitive coma guys, to the bottle neck I am
taking your party.
Lassure to Curacao I promised myself, heavens that would
cost less than those evening marbles made from the Ozone
of those who chose these misty spots, avoiding the looks.
They take me appart, putting hands on her bum, her
engineer yet not knowing to make lighters like that.
But you know, those who light up, red and pink and then
green, those we purchase already made from the street
vendor.
"It's not in your truck that we'd put genius, needed to
make little things like that work. And f..ck-off bitch,
you don't see that here, alltogether, we're good, and
that we don't need you! "
