歌词
Last Sunday the priestess’s headset
dropped in and out of amplification;
right through the speaker up above the altar
the sermon was exchanged to rhythmic thumps
touring out upon communion;
with the battery run dry,
with the heartbeat of the holy spirit
morse coding on my eardrum
I thought, as an essential rule of thumb,
is this that ultimate, sought-after relation?
technically speaking
more or less
is this how intimate it gets?
Some gazes stir me,
"What can you give to me?
How can you overthrow me?” he says
and throws himself onto me – provider
we slit our palms and shake hands
our lungs close by, close to pressuring the rhyme
his gaze stirs me – later on, none of this
will enter my vessels where our vessels met
injected into him, I tried to decipher
is this that ultimate, sought-after relation?
technically speaking
is this wide open blood cells?
more or less
is this how intimate it gets?
(In and out of cold hands,
our lungs:
I am not blind
your fingers are lines
they have pointed
towards feeling,
they sometimes bend
and hold around
whatever they find)
专辑信息