Half the Phoenix is reborn in haze. Unreliable disease, but daze. Iconic out-of-favor strangulation. Colourful emancipation. Iconic in his expectations. Stoic facing all his passions. Dyptisch of triangulation. Liberty in Sacrifice – Damnation otherwise.

The Frost

Fear of no-one, higher expectations; Exit inflexible – Seldom the frost. Television highway, sympathetic entourage; Exit pain – Seldom the frost. Caustic lacerations, constant medication; Exit brain – Seldom the frost.


The soul is deep. The world is blank. It’s the man who didn’t know, the world was fine; The man who didn’t know, how to walk in a line; It’s the man who didn’t know, nothing is inside; The man who didn’t know, to abide – By the rules, by the time, By the law and by the dime; By the sun, by the moon, By the glass and by the spoon; By the trigger in the finger and the string around the neck; To finally obey – what the heck? The phone rings, no one speaks; Questionmarks and hollow leaks. The bell resounds, no one’s there; Disbelief in anything! The neighbour speaks, he rings out, Screeching and rasping sound. The crowd is there, it resounds, Let it be his last break out. Bullhorn spits, choking words; A carnaval, a mascarade. The hand claps, no one moves; Disbelief in anything! Choking carcass, verbal spit, Screeching and rasping sound A moving circle, holding hands, Let it be the last of men.


Everytime I feel the fright behind my back; Everytime I see phantasmagoria on Brians head; I close the shutters, close the doors and close the lights. I pour a drink for me and Brian – we fly a kite. Burn around, surround the cypher. De-clutch the light, and kill the piper. Drink out, drown in a vase. Close your eyes, you’re an inflexible mass. Isolation – alone. When everything was fine, With a glass of wine, With a slice of lime – The loss of conscious mind There was a time, when everything was fine. Everything was fine, with a glass of lime. A glass of lime, with a slice of lime. A slice of lime – The loss of conscious mind. Now, count from one to nine – The loss of conscious time.

Tomorrow knows?



Astral projection, Like a time lapse in reverse. Artistic aura, Like a ritual and a verse. Spectral phenomenon, Like a pastel saturation. Arresting face, And a corpus of an angel. Powder calming, Like a stop-motion cap-a-pie. Artistic ambiance, Like a vision and a lie. Eerie pattern, Like a muddy scrap of paper. Disgusting face, And a corpus Magma Mater. Movie film, back and forth. Audio record, with no worth. Photograph, preyed the next. Sound of muzak, with no text. Fingertip, down the lip, Hypnotic for the comic strip. Fingermarks, emitting sparks, Mesmerizing in the dark. Eye-movement, up and down. Spotlight beam on the ground. I hear, the midnight tear. Claim to fame, now it’s here – And she believes, that nothing happened. Disrobe the charming globe; A gentle bliss around the lobe. Disguise the glowing rise – Euphoria at a dice. Consume beneath the moon; Prosperous and a boon. Confide the aeon and run – How fortunate the man with none. Polyphonic! Sixteen and one… In person – nonperson. All-consuming idle talk. Ploy! Impair the walk. Time! It’s Sixteen to one… Abstraction in a leaf. All-consuming idle talk. Mite! Childhood’s reborn.


Feed the circle, Feed his fame – Feed his glorious kind of game. Constrain the circle, Constrain it all – Constrain his will untill it spall. The minstrel is a fool, A solemn and a tool. His organpipes are blocked, His message forever locked. The Kings he serves, Masses with no verve. The chant he declaims, Trampled down, in remains. Television clowns, And no one frowns. Entertaining star, Solemn and a par. The Kings he serves, Masses full of verve. The songs he barfs, Applauded by the dwarfs. Par les chemins, les bourgs et les villages, Chante la vie en voyage. Par les côteaux et les rivages, Chante la vie, paysage.