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The Joys Of Stealth
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Rome
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When we lie white in our mourning slumber When our skin smells of sun The filthy mass that moves and talks Is swept into the sea, is gone When we are naked, when we're on fire When we render secret tribute to This pain we fake, this blue desire Love is still our craving and our shame When they come to me Laughing and howling When they thrust their anguish into me And lick the blood as it runs down They don't give place to youthful bloom Not then, not now In the leaves of blood, in the life of the tribe I am dead to all the world Except when the noises sleep or hide
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