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Rome
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The Joys of Stealth
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
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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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