lirik lagu april 1830 - this woman will die today
in the darkness, us six traveled into the moss. enormous, silent, intense, strange, flat, permanent. i saw myself reflected over two hundred hundred meters from the origin of the soil. i saw her, almost invisible, free~flying, burning with antagonism. her body dangled from the air, red chin hanging off her face, floodlight stare. leaked through her t~~th a bubbling tar that crawled into all of our ears and whispered the follows: “the brain, the blood, the bird, thе battle, the burning of a baby’s rattle, a sacrificial ritе of cattle, but this woman will die today. the skin, the hunt, inhuman laughter, a pill to take the morning after. i called her ‘beast,’ he called her master, but this woman will die.” we turned ill as the inhuman noise fixed in our hearing began regurgitating our rituals. venus knew the cycle. domina howled. our military victory depended on stealth and surprise. i saw his given name through her eye. her eye saw we were small mammals, insects. julesie was fingering the sky over venus. charcoal~black, charcoal~fired, the owl only had one eye. unbeating remiges encompassed in flame the color of gunpowder sustained its silent flight. i think the owl altered our heads, clearing our hearts, flame burrowing in our eyes. petemenekysis deserved to be k!lled for his illicit manipulation of divine forces through magic. julesie started, gun itching her thigh, but i said to wait and she swallowed, released the drug held in her jowl, as venus stroked the burning owl, the girl subservient to the fowl, and this woman will die today. “i’ll skin the c~nt, inhuman b~st~rd,” said our commander in alabaster. “je suis conscient depuis avant~hier and this woman will die. slit her now, i need this. you all know who i were before.” julesie’s limp wrist was flittering. seventeen times higher as our corps, it went screeching, “no, no, no, the gun!” and the owl fell down, hole the blood ran down over, so dead she would never fly again. “who are you? who are you?” the brain, the blood, the bird, the battle, the burning of a baby’s rattle, a sacrificial rite of cattle, but this woman will die today. the skin, the hunt, inhuman laughter, a pill to make the mourning faster. i called her ‘beast,’ he called her master, but this woman will die. then spilled the fountain from the owl, a tortured ho~rs~ half~trem of vowel, and venus sunk to moss and strowled (and this woman will die today) to steal the steel and l!ck the barrel as we watched, marble in helpless terror. she choked out, “i will be a flower,” and this woman will die.
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