Like Apollinaire - with soft words
I though, what I overcarres you
But I've wrapped around my hand

Barbed wire - bloody, long
And even so I took my boots off
I was smelling of my thoughts

Thoughts crooked like a any dick
Thoughts like rainy, heavy clouds


And Benedict's strong fist
Hanging over sleepy head
I was looking in his eyes

Can he hear your swan-song
Let the night carry your singing
Up your ears it is worth

Let Amadeus turns in his grave
Let him curse - it's not his note


The rust that I feed, that I grow
Resistant for any words
The rust that I feed, that I grow

Resistant for any words

The man who carried the Christ

He's got a knife in his hand
When he will mature - he'll strike
You know, I know - I deserve

The night carry your song
Up your ears - it is worth
Julius turns in his grave

Let him curse - that's not his words

The rust that I feed, that I grow

Resistant for any words
The rust that I feed, that I grow
Resistant for any words


The rust that I feed, that I grow
Resistant for any words

The rust that I feed, that I grow
Resistant for any words