Turning screws
That twist with a croak
A hammer in square nails
Boots echo down the stone staircase
Tall machines made of brass
Perfectly greased gears twist against
Bright red tune of strings
Twist tunnels in the black of my mind
Underground trees

Billiard ***** tap in the next room
Where men hunt weak women
With long black teeth
Collars stained red blood
Go to sleep in my family name

Someone taps nails
In my coffin