Bread at Dawn

Wear faces, masks of dawn
Graffiti warriors on the run
Find snow, zero doors or roofs
Stoned out of your mind… and still obscure
Wear taboos
Culture pain of years
Draw blood
In crayons and in tears… remember
Remember you’re dead
Recall… who’s paying for your bread
We’ll eat it at dawn
Like a lotus of your head

Lose traces, masks of death
Remember who’s supplying
All that’s left, of your breath
Going down the tube to feed your selves
Live up to the scent of empty graves
Cigarettes, the last and the good
Water
Tastes always like it should… live
for the magic of your streets
Yellow, black and working
Easy like a bee
We’ll choke it at dawn
Like unnecessary seas

Abstract, remember
Who you are
Cut your hands, let her touch
your hand… explore its cracks and scars
Of mirrors… windows and of towns
You’re famous
You’re really famous now
No need to speak unto this holy cow
And there’s no need
For yolk to run across your face
There’s no reason to put yourself away
In a Polish or a German grave
We’ll eat your body soon
Drink your eyeballs
In the rain and dance