Winteryear کے بول

[dedicated to abhinanda] A winteryear, five years before the future Just after the end of history There's a headless vulcano Couloring the sidewalk Its smile is cut off The sewer drinks its altarwine The penis penetrates The modern virginity In the castle Of humanity In civilisation halls Empty words echoes between the walls As champagne swills down dried throats Dance to the songs of living dead They knock at your splintered doors Stripped dignity A creature rapes itself Here falls the belief In humanity Men weep and women die Men breed and women sleep The library goes up in flames Nothing left but trivial remains Lines drawn with greedy perfection The words is on the phone - an infection The gun lights itself a cigarette To celebrate the loss I rather live for something Than die for nothing If the river runs nearby Don't count me in