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• Artiste: Shriekback
• Titre: Berlin
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He was walking at night mixing himself with the shadows Running blue veined caged tight fast past the flesh windows And he was not expecting anything Not the angel choir inside his head Or the litmus test of doves And there they were And he felt the rolling fever hands of light upon him Felt the beady eyes of the night upon his back And everything he said turned into something else Everything he said turned into something else And he said, "What kind of beast am I?" And he said, "Who brings the tablets down this mountain?" And he said, "Is this where I live?" And he said, "Ah, sometimes I feel so full." And a voice answered saying, "You are an aerial hung up to the Divine, You are a beach for the waves of the world to crash on, You are the spilt wine... You are the spilt wine at the table of the gods." And through the wet streets of the city Washed bloody with the warfare of the ghosts There is a shining something There is a shining something And death is only one of its faces Love is only one of its faces And he said, "I will be a testament to this I will be consumed in this I will be a run of sparks around the coils of this labyrinth I am the roar of the bees in summer I am a winged victory And this is my epiphany I am a winged victory This is my epiphany I am a winged victory And this is my epiphany."