empty stomach while they´re building streets
silver bullet embed in a fifties box
blue wing white room, goin blind by words
spitted from the distance, while food falls down from closets
paper shoes, white apron, noise in my back
i´m parked while old ladies show their wounds
i have seen a man with two melons again
i blink and then a high sterilizing room
shows me a brilliant red hour
warm liquid over my shoulder
red trail going white by moments
you´ll only feel one bite of three
if you take you´ll stay with us
plastic oxygen
i´m a ghetto teacher
it doesn´t hurt but I feel the touch instead
paper shoes, white apron, noise in my back
i´m parked while old ladies show their wounds
i have seen a man with two melons again
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