Be Beautiful.

Screaming,
We're Born,
Or've already died.
At age nine, we learn,
To turn screams to sighs.

Kissing,
We miss,
We even exist.
At ten and six, Desire,
Too cheap to resist.

Fucking,
We fall,
Forget we're alive.
At ten plus nine, we're dead,
Just passing the time.

Crying,
We kiss,
Arts cold blue lips.
At twenty-one, we mourn,
The dreaming now gone.

Nothing,
We slip,
Into a shallow grave.
At an early age, we merge,
With the world we should've changed.

Fact. 51: "The Haçienda must be built".

This makeshift city will comsume your life,
for five sweet sunsets of 'good fucking times'.

...Go out. Get drunk. Find a guilt-free fumble...

This makeshift city will consume your soul,
sold for sex, drugs, rock and roll.

... Go back. Get home. Then in you can stumble...

This makeshift city now consumed by fire,
and turned to ash by ragin' desire.

... Get up. Go work. "What a night" you can mumble...

This makeshift city will consume itself.
This makeshift city will consume yourself.

...Then you've give me the reason to never feel humble...