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THE ROOT

I shall not be resfrain
Let me feel The tempo
And branches dancing in the heat
To the ancestarl beat

Of Black magical breeze
My soul is seaching
That I most seek
The ancient root
Of my existence

THE PROSTIT


She is not an amatuer Eve
Trying to show Adam
The missing fruit
In the garden

She is a prostit
Duchess of pleasure
Where no Eve
Play puritan prigs

She is at beck and peck
Of Adamson
Manful to the pick
To step at her den

She is an entrepreneur of Flesh
commercial baby
In labour of love
Highly profitable labour

Full of masohistic sensation.

THE CONSOLE

Time is my console
Because with time
My hope fare
With time
My hope fair

Time is my console
With time
I broke the yoke
With time
I left my mark
On the soil of time

Time is my console.

ECHOES


EChoes from the past
Errors of innocents
Enticing nightmare
Dancing on our dream

Youthful ecumbrance
Harsh routine
Of sweat, salt and sun
Precipitate on our frozen mind

Playing with roaring tempo
On our fading fonding
For little life
Crying for our fonding