Destroying the thresholds of receptors
Do not think somebody wants your death
There is so little space for true love here
That all the suffering transforms to pleasure
In a stuffy gapage, in a blowtorch's light

Hung by her feet my dear lady is
Under this spine there is something we dreamed of so long
A place with a view on red pyjamas and lingerie getting yellow
The blade is closer and closer
First cut is a first kiss

Humble cut starts bleeding of such stimulation
Capillaries sprinkle the red dew on skin
Open cavity fills with blood, like a glass is filled with fresh milk
This is my sweet communion, which, I drink, confessing
Urine flows down

On the stomach, chin and face
Irritating eyes
Filling the mouth
Vomiting spasm
Half-digested pudding, slipping off the burnt-down face
In slimy chunks was falling on the floor
Tight rope was straining under weight of convulsing quartered body