BABELOGUE | Tekst i Tłumaczenie (po kliknięciu)

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I haven't fucked much with the past, but I've fucked plenty with the future.

Over the skin of silk are scars from the splinters of stations and walls I've caressed.

A stage is like each bolt of wood, like a log of Helen, is my pleasure.

I would measure the success of a night by the way by the way by the amount of piss and seed I could exude over the columns that

nestled the P.A.

Some nights I'd surprise everybody by skipping off with a skirt of green net sewed over with flat metallic circles which dazzled and

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