Iron bull against the sky,
"Blue of noon" of Georges Bataille,
tell the story of the eye,
dead man comes.

Ladies in their armour bright
ride upon their apes of white,
sex and death wait in the night
for dawn to come.

I don´t know,
but I want to know why.

Sunbleached pictures in my kitchen
rapture me with their seduction,
prostrate to their prostitutions
in my dreams.

In my bed of snow and ivory
grows a rose so red and firey,
made of gold and deadly irony,
love and death.

I don´t know,
but I want to know why.

Feeding on the wounded
and their shrunken shriveled hearts.
When will I lose my appetite?
It´s just confusion
in their drunk and desperate arms.
Is that fear or is that pride?
You can lose your way in their eyes.

Hide yourself in leaves of lovers,
paper flowers, names and numbers,
then you never can discover
the name of love.

I don´t know,
but I want to know why.