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The raging party goes on into the night Near the market place Where the poor search for a fix In the royal kingdom of religion The girls come and go like birds in the wind Enjoying the musical calls of black morning The call of bootlegged bottles From the trunks of 1989 Chevrolet Caprice Classics The booze they water down The brown paste they weave They rave the gallon hours of secrecy And shed temporary light On the darkness of our conditions They are our salvation They are our escape From the void we have already sunk in They are the music that rings In the background of our emotional decay We are lost in their bodies We search for ourselves in their bodies We search for innocence on their breasts We search for truth on their lips We search for warmth in their buzems We search for life in their flowers We search for love in their hearts Yet we find nothing at all Alas … AHHHHH The momentary pleasures The screams of unheard noise Echoes of the clackering furniture In the clubhouses Whilst the squad cars Whiz by Un Aware Blind to the endless possibilities of youth Blind to lust’s capabilities In belief that they control That which is uncontrollable That which is Passion After this phase We fall silent And dim the musical light And find ourselves Lost for words Yet we need none We share lighters We play with hair We bite We tease We are lost in meaningless giggles We are lost on beds We are lost on tables We are lost on roofs We are lost On tongues And indifferent to eyes We are blind to gaze For they will leave us in the early sunrise And a new flock will return in the dawns haze They are friends nonetheless At least whilst they are here And we long for their presence For they bring the city to life In those neon rooms Of subculture delicacy Where the boy explores The creativity of divine expression For the very first time His body shivers with excitement And at 4 AM he finds clear passage Into the rose of a blossoming bird He sails through the wet waters Of fire This is the place in the old country Near the worship houses And the market places And the un walkable streets And the death defying highways And the floods of rain Where everything is finally true And options lay flat on the ground For everyone to see A secret cave of dancing lights Far from the public eye Where intentions lay Naked Bare Beautiful That is The raging party In the kingdom of religion On Friday night
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