He cut his way through, he made it to the shade.
He´s safe from surrounding threats, studying his escapade.
He´s all safe right now, without tripping out.
The Sun creates perfume-drops and lipstick 'round his mouth.

Packed burns the friction from - ejaculated human bodies.
Regardless of construction costs - or emancipated fairies.
Suddenly the music stops - when they all start wanting children.
Then another record comes - it all seemed like a burden.

Join hands and pray to Kabbalah.
This poem doesn´t get me off.
- Haha!