In a phallic, stone tower
We rise and fly or stand knee deep in water
Skin is smooth and damp
Every time he crosses them
And there are bones in bed with that child,
A figure behind the gla**,
Me in his mouth The man has come and gone,
Aroused my photographic memory
Orphan sons and his raw hands
(Were slammed in his face) Like fire under who*es
Insect, smiling eyes project rain
Blaze against his teeth The luxury of tears burned my fingers,
Spinning devils of snow
The luxury of tears burned my fingers,
Spinning devils of snow
Oh devils must know the luxury of tears Changing his shape, he raised his eyes,
Eyes masked with green
Threw out his arms, pulled open the door
A moist, sour tongue down the silver screen Usher in the bleak years
Through his yawning neck
I undress in his throat
A pa**ion for dust
(Was slammed in his face)
Pull them down by the wings
A rose from my ribs
Stole back up the stairs
(And laughed in his face)