Текст песни The ConstruKction Of Light

Pain day sky beauty die black joy love empty day life die pain passion joy black day hate beauty die life joy ache empty day pain die love passion joy black light And if God is dead what am I, a fleck of dirt on the wing of a fly hurtling to earth through a hole in the sky A hole in the sky And if Warhol's a genius, what am I, a speck of lint on the penis of an alien buried in gelatin beneath the sands of Venus Time sun hurt trust peace dark rage sad white rain sun anger hurt soft trust night rage rain white hope dark sacred sun time trust hurt rage anger rain white light And if a bird can speak, who once was a dinosaur, and a dog can dream; should it be implausible that a man might supervise the construction of light the construction of light Pain day sky beauty black die joy love empty time sun hurt trust peace dark rage sad white rain hate anger hope sacred passion life night ache soft light