Shallow lights, except for one.
The closed palace of the suburbs throws a sickly green
light over the bedroom of your mind.
I can't pull away from my sleep,
that Raskalnikov's got an axe,
and he knows how to hide it.
Have you seen the faces...all the faces,
they know you won't see them.
The future is in the hands of a New Delhi fireworks maker,
in the hands of a Korean boatbuilder,
a Colombian coca grower,
a Chiapas farmer....
...that comforts me.
They're mining the walls of our empire and I am amused by your frantic running.
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