Monday, August 17, 2009

maybe it's just the moonlight; but you're looking awful good for a corpse

doctor of trance and the red carpet earth
where dead girls dance on the mud-soaked plain
ecstasy angels spit blood in the dark
here in the garden of earthly remains

a dozen dope fiends hypnotised in the rain
listen, bass hammers nail into eardrum tree
go for your guns; turntables aflame
and scratch records till the vinyl bleeds

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