The butter is the heart
The void and the aborted
Artaud living with his neck
The old man's words, white hot knives
Eyes black with pain
One man's poison is another mans meat
Those Indians wank on his bones
Placed firmly in the noose
Let the slaughtered take a bow
Scratch pictures on asylum walls
The rancid pealing soul
Those Indians wank on his bones
One man's agony, another mans treat
Limbs in cramps, contorted
Red fix
Hypodermic, hypodermic, hypodermic
Slicing through warm butter
Broken nails and matchsticks
Put the audience in action
The theater and its double
Those Indians wank on his bones