You are breaking everything with your (un)worn shoes
Stomping on stereotypes, evil, and souls
While tasting the smoke of a rolled cigarette.
Then you worship the streets in the background of jazz
Calling a revolution:
The king is dead, long live the anarchy,
Monarchy is buried under fedoras and ashes.
Damp fingers and open lips cease to surprise,
Just burning leftovers of shame and bray goosebumps
In churches. Heavy breathing nuns and squeaking altars...
Men, what can you see through the illuminators of your glasses?
Your planes and ships, machines have already turned
Back into pumpkins, bleeding cinderellas and their babies
Born in the tales of horror.
Evening - it's the new tomorrow! Instincts wake and it doesn't hurt
When you tickle the Milky Way in search of a Friend.
Jun 19, 2014
Jun 19, 2014 at 8:22 AM UTC
You are breaking everything with your (un)worn shoes
Stomping on stereotypes, evil, and souls
While tasting the smoke of a rolled cigarette.
Then you worship the streets in the background of jazz
Calling a revolution:
The king is dead, long live the anarchy,
Monarchy is buried under fedoras and ashes.
Damp fingers and open lips cease to surprise,
Just burning leftovers of shame and bray goosebumps
In churches. Heavy breathing nuns and squeaking altars...
Men, what can you see through the illuminators of your glasses?
Your planes and ships, machines have already turned
Back into pumpkins, bleeding cinderellas and their babies
Born in the tales of horror.
Evening - it's the new tomorrow! Instincts wake and it doesn't hurt
When you tickle the Milky Way in search of a Friend.
