The toad dressed up as a sun spinning out of control.
The earth pretending to quake.

Babies crying in their cribs.
Fed by lions of colour, of shape, of wrong.

On the fields the crops started to spew litanies
of blood, of fire, of seed.

In every village the eldest and the youngest one
died peacefully in their sleep
to the tune of the nightingale´s song
in morsecode.

In their houses the people hoped.
In the hours lodged between the prayers.

2008 I loves you
(yeah, yeah, yeah)

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