Kiss the past
Waiting for the eyes
brimstone jewelery surrounds your face
Fire burns my soul
White medieval women
make an exhibition of flesh under
black parasols
And all the leather, furs, flowers and lust
this is where we belong
Kiss the past
The minstrels perform
here children have Freedom of desire
rose masquerade
The old mans glass Face
eyes move still alive, tears cascade
his last parade
And all the leather, furs, flowers and lust
this is where we belong
Kiss the past
Unworthy captives with palms sweat wet
Believers of the unpure
Kiss the past
This is where we belong
