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Death is Soft Stool in Fruity Mania

de Bethlehem

Through the exalted darkness
of the future past
the murmuring longs for light
for a way out
between dual worlds

Silenced is the indifferent attention
And it seems to me
as if I would see an undergarment
that, tied up in a tree,
is a sanctuary for the humble ones

Conjured up by the power
of a fading second sun
three fingers of my left hand are
set free weakened seed in the uncertainty
of bloodsoaked mire

Yesterday I meant it just like
it sounds tomorrow
It was contact with the nothingness
that tatooed my third finger
But when the amfibian opened to me
I seemed to be someone else
and cut off my entire arm

I catch you with my bringer of death
and you still think it was insanity
yet it is promised:
I will kill myself furthermore

Oh Promise - Thou Crown Of The Death Cult

When black raindrops serve only the one goal
to burn in nocturnal insignificance

And he who is nailed to his own cross
feels the wish
to prefer You Death over a life that never
existed

Then the distant point in time has arrived
to gaze into your redeeming eyes
and to welcome one's own downfall
with open arms

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