1. |
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(Ladies and Gentleman, I feel that this award was not made for me as a man, but to my work and life's work, in agony and sweat of the human spirit. Something which was not there before. Already dedicated to the same anguish and travail. The problems of the human heart in conflict with itself. Which alone can make good writing, because only that is worth writing about.)
In a moment I would take you back
A moment of the heart in a motorcar
(It's not made to me as a man)
You could be so much more
(Problems of the human heart in conflict with itself. Which alone cane make good writing, because only that is worth writing about.)
Don't you know
Sustain is an attempt against Death
Momento Mori I cry
Imagine if books could die
Imagine how it would feel
Putting lives reel to reel
Sustain is an attempt against Death
And silence is a psychopomp
Bundle the words as a ritual copse
Under the lake there is a garland
Containing our hopes
Mara Coma
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2. |
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Love rages,
But the oracle says
Not everything in this world
Makes a lot of sense.
These days
The apocalypse looms,
But the man puts on another parade.
Can you tell me that you love me
Before I pass away
And if you don't my ghost will come and haunt you
Until the end of your days.
Love fades,
But the oracle says
Not everything in this world makes a whole lot of sense.
Church and corporations say
All you need to do to rinse is ride the fence.
Listen to the world's end.
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3. |
Heaven's Borders
02:56
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Heaven's borders
Sunlight stricken in
Cultural degradation.
Lenin's ball invitations going fast.
Senegal's secret country retreat arts and crafts.
Heaven's borders
Sunlight stricken in
Several borrowers' horror visions.
Heaven's borders
Sunlight stricken in
Couples' therapy quaalude machine.
The patterns on your couch make a throne
I kneel and pray, kneel and pray.
The Furs, relentless, play.
Tonight your wine is on the floor, on the floor.
Why won't you say your home
Can be one day our home?
But at the end of the night your wine, your wine
Is all over the floor.
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4. |
Deers for Seers
02:22
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How did I get here? Like streams running meadows.
Forget the summer smell of isopropyl ambrosia.
Cold in it's feeling, I feel I'm forgetting.
Hands like clams or oysters. It's gin. It's suns setting.
For you cannot be here; you cannot find me.
Do not follow forest deer to seer they'll lead you blindly.
Half of your nectar is sweetened by your glances.
Half of your head turns are killed by a mangier patient of mine.
We are in decline with hill rolls and stories.
I dream about talking, but waking is silence and I hope I'm not boring.
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