Distorted sounds are slicing through the wind
On overdrive guitars have much to say
I speak distortedly, I yell, I cry
My melodies they screech
The mobs of people in a state of trance
My temple of emotions is complete
Throughout the concert I deliver more
I push myself beyond the kind unseen
I go to places that we hide away
I take my subjects with me on the way
And in that dark adventure we embrace
A hedonistic haze and bathe in flesh
When social boundaries have disappeared
What’s left in us is everything but fear
A mob so liberated it can perform
Its own distorted melodies, with its own strings
And as they pluck there way to ecstasy
The strings break from the shaft and they are free
Towards collectiveness that does transcend
The feeble boundaries of socialistic ends
In concert of the pleasures so to speak
The masses gather round in merriment
The sex the drugs the rock’n’roll
Mixed with the magic pills we take
Makes objects in a constant state of change
And as each morphs the night into their dreams
I die a little more from all the strain
I am a martyr of their hidden needs
Rock on!
With armies made of colored pills
I am the king of Babylon indeed
bohemiaspeaks 