Geryon piosenki

Quarter man, run - A beginning is no breast beat. It is a splitting, a death In the proscenium. A holding In, head down - Sinking prayer in a vast field. 

Heavenly twins clasp hands within you. Severed man, how you gorge yourselves, split the spoils but take all. Ripe and rotten, always in the blackest river of mind Which man will you be when you die? The one who watches her grind her teeth Or...

First came doubt—a mare born Broken, limp the gate of the father, Rib and skin rose and fell deep in earth Within one year. My birth was slow, little mourning And labor wasted. You see me now, Tar and stick of a fight, limbs bend And breath heav...

Somewhere we come to a deafening. We drink what we are given. I want The agency of death The delirium of sacrifice, to feast Only on what is mine, only On what is sacred within me.