Your smile is a threshold
that I can cross unharmed
only to discover your smile is a weapon
slicing me to pieces
with sordid cynicism.
I grab the metalic lance
which is your own baseness,
a vileness sheltered in your chest . . .
Oh! the lance is like ice
so cold that your veins have no pulse
But with a disenchanted shield
that protects nothing, impedes nothing,
in this misty field
on a foggy night, I´ll bow
my body before your pedestal!
yet nothing can touch
your brutal ego
And the more I cross this threshold,
the more I want to cross you, but I can' t!
A viciousness kills me litlle by little
I -- each time a little weaker
You -- each time a little more insane
You -- blinding me to the reason
the way we are blinded by faith and psalms
and you, so powerfully wise, prepare your supper
I -- dying again at your feet
You -- carrying my scalp
across the sepulcher of myself.