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On the Autobahn to Sulphurland`s yellow smokelit Skies

smells (along) a Motorcar with Windows carved of Angel Eyes,

through which seen Landscapes change...



And through the drysunned Valley of Chimneys

to Hellscraper-Town Code 666

the Powerlines flash golden,

hung up high on ancient Steelmastgiants

while red Pupils watch the MedianStrip

and sink into deaf Daymares.



Stiring the holy Anthony Fire,

loading the Files to new Worlds beyond,

where Limen falls to Zero,

(the) Cherubims play Trumpet with their Asses

for the Glory of the Summersolsticeborn

and Cat with Horns.



And all Horizons are crammed with Crosses

as the Windscreen-Iris widens

on the Lucid Silence Day Parade

to JesusRace on SteelMasts high.



Around fragmentated Images

they rotate with the Woe of ten Wars.

Each one drags the most martyrial Cross

and of Course mine is heavier than thine.



The Harlequin with working Cheek-Bones

grins his Pranks to amuse those

Crowned with thornesque Pitybullets,

nailed upon a silent Horror

between all these restless Dreams.



"Wi e rld ki e

ll th Wo ll m

A er s g He en

ft eein av ?"



Around fragmentated Images

they rotate with the Woe of ten Wars

on the Lucid Silence Day Parade

to JesusRace on SteelMasts high.

On the Autobahn to Sulphurland`s yellow smokelit Skies

smells (along) a Motorcar with Windows carved of Angel Eyes,

through which seen Landscapes change...



And through the drysunned Valley of Chimneys

to Hellscraper-Town Code 666

the Powerlines flash golden,

hung up high on ancient Steelmastgiants

while red Pupils watch the MedianStrip

and sink into deaf Daymares.



Stiring the holy Anthony Fire,

loading the Files to new Worlds beyond,

where Limen falls to Zero,

(the) Cherubims play Trumpet with their Asses

for the Glory of the Summersolsticeborn

and Cat with Horns.



And all Horizons are crammed with Crosses

as the Windscreen-Iris widens

on the Lucid Silence Day Parade

to JesusRace on SteelMasts high.



Around fragmentated Images

they rotate with the Woe of ten Wars.

Each one drags the most martyrial Cross

and of Course mine is heavier than thine.



The Harlequin with working Cheek-Bones

grins his Pranks to amuse those

Crowned with thornesque Pitybullets,

nailed upon a silent Horror

between all these restless Dreams.



"Wi e rld ki e

ll th Wo ll m

A er s g He en

ft eein av ?"



Around fragmentated Images

they rotate with the Woe of ten Wars

on the Lucid Silence Day Parade

to JesusRace on SteelMasts high.

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