Beating about in Straumen

The weeks have been dreary, cold winds blowing my lips dry, my stomach lining edging it self in, the cold making the fat go away.

All the little children packing to go home, to tinsel town factories with bright light starvation of sex.

Cold, dreadful mists floating by the grey sea,the snow white mountains longing for love, covered in moss,the mist makes way.

Psychedelic lights flicker and dance to the tunes of yage,brain freeze, coma, seeing visions of virgin mary naked angels bloodymary.

Hard pounding,waste baskets full of empty syringes that have been plunged deep down into unknowing souls, earlier in the day.Toxic screaming, whores running dry the lucid walls of terror,acidic foam stinking of acids sulphuric and chloride, the moneybelts of sultry pimps clinging on to the heavens stark above, while the fakir pricks his buttocks with a screwdriver, moaning harmless mantras while the little leper screams in pain so great, his cock half bent, mouthsagging, droopy eye lids, cocaine floating down his veins:he begs the good lord to put an end to his paedophilic misventures with his leaking scrotum hanging still.