The Hole

One, four
The turning of deterioration
Our fate, monochrome worldliness
The lesser breading is moderate
By the craft of human activity

I drank the serosities of your corpse to dregs
Time's alcohol
Delapidation where our twenty years glances capsize
From beauty and place only devastation remains
Dying returns your face to me

By now as for a long time
I've had the face of the dead
I know one day forgetfulness
As memory today
Will give birth to the same familiar strangeness
In my inner self

This day will pick up the poor liminary song
Like the air collect the light
Like death collect the glance
Like the air collect the light
Like death collect the glance

On the pupil of drowned man
The breath of the beloved word will be erased
Then I wil give my self away
The staggering step of the air straightness
Where the heavy flesh breathes
A space where a name is articulated

Your unpronounceable name
Imbodied for it is named again
Unperceivable fall
Towards this space opened for silence
Wich skims without crossing it
With its thin pulsation
The black frost of the true blood