Created with/from extracts of Henry Miller´s “Tropic of Cancer”

A superb entertainment
casual lyrics
and a voice so loud
a voice so loud
I wish I have to feel sorry for my whole tribe
They left a bad smell
from Times Square to Fifteenth Street
before dinner atmosphere

I was mumbling to God above to kill me tonight
Kill me

There is something about it
I remember it was wide
pure cunt pure fuck
But fuck, the real thing, cunt, the real thing
That holds the world togheter

What was I saying?
I didn´t say a word
She didn´t say a word either
Everything was anonymous and unformulated
Every second in the universe
It is sunday morning and I
lying blissfully dead
My balls ache
I´m lying there like a sick star
waiting for the light to go away