Quoted By:
No, we aren't the warm soil, right!
Through the ring-tonnels' drum,
Through the cold of the lamp post's light
We shall come to you, our Sun!
No, we aren't pure nor holy
We're bringing the storm of breakdown
with the crux gammata we
Are the soilists of the asphalt.
Our shoulders are steel and chrome
And are exsanguinated foreheads and lips
With our steps the Thunder go
In the undergrounds where're stenchy tubes
City everywhere cloaks our step
Burning metal and with it plastic
Like some scratch marks of the comet
Are appearing the zigzags of swastiks.
