:
I smell the passion of your dreams
it invades me like a rough human fire
a seminal vessel of anger
left on some ancient windowsill
now where you play cordially
among the machinistic words appearing
from technologies' thigh
Young Man, bizzare in your secreted land
Bent in your own willow
all the colours you speak of become mud
in my hand, a clay of mortar , bricks
drench me with your spin
allow entrance, I take it
You are bold snail, I haggle for you
In the slime trail
I become the fascination of dry paper
You my miracle
So devoid of sense i dance.
I remember my manners
the manner of my comming
and going before the crush
when I lay in a costume
reflective of my bearing
left in the unknown now
my own sense free to dress
eat,think as pleases
how strange that I stay faithful
to You, when hell beckons every day.
-Zete Purongge
:
I smell passion when hell beckons everyday
How strange that it invades me
I stay faithful like a rough human fire
eat a seminal
think as he pleases vessel of anger
my own senses some ancient windowsill
left on free to dress
left in the now, where you
unknown play now cordially
reflective of words appearing
my bearing among the machinistic
when I lay from technologies'
thigh in a costume
bizarre in your secreted land and going
Young Man, before the crush
the manner of your own willow
my coming Bent in
I remember all the colours
my manners you speak of become mud
So devoid of clay of mortar , brick
in my hand, a sense, I dance.
You drench me
my miracle with your spin
I become, I take it
fascination of dry paper allow entrance,
In the slime I haggle for you
you are bold snail trail.
-Aaron Held
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