White Surgeon

Synthetic bitter pain
Taste of meds hospital walls
Huge catheters feel the veins
Red pipes suck the will

Can you feel that? Can you feel?

Face the scene
It’s ice and fainting and colored bruises
Psichedelia of suffering flesh in decomposition
Big dreams reduced to test tubes

May I dream for you? I don’t think so

I’m the white surgeon
I’m the light that blinds
Let me live in your coffin
Let me die in your arms