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Destroying the thresholds of receptors

Do not think somebody wants your death

There is so little space for true love here

That all the suffering transforms to pleasure

In a stuffy gapage, in a blowtorch's light

Hung by her feet my dear lady is

Under this spine there is something we dreamed of so long

A place with a view on red pyjamas and lingerie getting yellow

The blade is closer and closer

First cut is a first kiss

Humble cut starts bleeding of such stimulation

Capillaries sprinkle the red dew on skin

Open cavity fills with blood, like a glass is filled with fresh milk

This is my sweet communion, which, I drink, confessing

Urine flows down

On the stomach, chin and face

Irritating eyes

Filling the mouth

Vomiting spasm

Half-digested pudding, slipping off the burnt-down face

In slimy chunks was falling on the floor

Tight rope was straining under weight of convulsing quartered body