King Of The Beautifukl Cockroach

High on the hills of time, high on the razor's edge high on the strang of life

Deep in the mire, in the jungle of knives, dancing, we are, in danger zones

Amongst the healer-dealers, we celebrate the coronation of our own tristesse.

And early in the morning I seek my way back to a beautiful bed

that's my life I'm never too early that's how it is, my question too hungry

All I do was asking always, always asking oo fast, don't ask way -

or kill you by my true confession.

I guess I need a father to look up to your father

But he was never there, and never to please, makes me never feel quilty.

In a deca(y)de...of essence sense and ethics - passing by like an SST crashing on tycoon.

Smell of man-piss ever corner this is no moral tale

the pleaasures of sex, paralysed by decadence

no escape, through a toilet window, a smell of dirtesse, spoiled my inspiration

I celebrate the coronation of my own tristesse.

Sit on me come sit on me. I'm lazy. I marry the crazy my arms and legs are willing

but my body loves the chair too much