Eyes watching in contemplation
Eyes watching eyes with hunger
Eyes watching eyes watching in obscene vertigo
Eyes watching eyes watching eyes in the alcoves of the golden door, to which incongruous burning dreams have designed the way and the need. Behind the golden door is a land of storms, raging, clammy and feverish and its lightnings pierce the broken eggs of your eyes. Sacrificing to the religion of treachery and betrayal, the broken eyes slip in wet cavities, entering tunnels to the dark homes thereunder. In exaltation or in necessity, the rapes of the night carve their way through the burden of the tasteless standards of castration, feeding the rage inside, urging to enter the kingdom of transgression, its divine wildness, celebrating the wicked appeasement through degradation, ordure and impudence. Pounding the solar splendour with absurd yet passionate anger until the grey hours of little death, sign of a cosmic void, an absence just too present, choking the possibilities of it not to spread and triumph over divineless will. The golden door and its bitter rains falling of the cheeks like obscene tears, sacred gate to abnormal mysteries where the dogs are unleashed after innocence. And the vile torrents daze the soul in lascivious drunkenness to finally erase all the boundaries. The solar passage banishes the shame and let the will betray the shells of the past to better find its way towards the last of the houses.
Eyes watching eyes with hunger
Eyes watching eyes watching in obscene vertigo
Eyes watching eyes watching eyes in the alcoves of the golden door, to which incongruous burning dreams have designed the way and the need. Behind the golden door is a land of storms, raging, clammy and feverish and its lightnings pierce the broken eggs of your eyes. Sacrificing to the religion of treachery and betrayal, the broken eyes slip in wet cavities, entering tunnels to the dark homes thereunder. In exaltation or in necessity, the rapes of the night carve their way through the burden of the tasteless standards of castration, feeding the rage inside, urging to enter the kingdom of transgression, its divine wildness, celebrating the wicked appeasement through degradation, ordure and impudence. Pounding the solar splendour with absurd yet passionate anger until the grey hours of little death, sign of a cosmic void, an absence just too present, choking the possibilities of it not to spread and triumph over divineless will. The golden door and its bitter rains falling of the cheeks like obscene tears, sacred gate to abnormal mysteries where the dogs are unleashed after innocence. And the vile torrents daze the soul in lascivious drunkenness to finally erase all the boundaries. The solar passage banishes the shame and let the will betray the shells of the past to better find its way towards the last of the houses.