Destroying the thresholds of receptors Do not think somebody wants your death There is so little space for true love here That all the suffering transforms to pleasure In a stuffy gapage, in a blowtorch's light Hung by her feet my dear lady is Under this spine there is something we dreamed of so long A place with a view on red pyjamas and lingerie getting yellow The blade is closer and closer First cut is a first kiss Humble cut starts bleeding of such stimulation Capillaries sprinkle the red dew on skin Open cavity fills with blood, like a glass is filled with fresh milk This is my sweet communion, which, I drink, confessing Urine flows down On the stomach, chin and face Irritating eyes Filling the mouth Vomiting spasm Half-digested pudding, slipping off the burnt-down face In slimy chunks was falling on the floor Tight rope was straining under weight of convulsing quartered body