The Joys of Stealth - Rome

When we lie white in our mourning slumber

When our skin smells of sun

The filthy mass that moves and talks

Is swept into the sea, is gone

When we are naked, when we’re on fire

When we render secret tribute to

This pain we fake, this blue desire

Love is still our craving and our shame

When they come to me

Laughing and howling

When they thrust their anguish into me

And lick the blood as it runs down

They don’t give place to youthful bloom

Not then, not now

In the leaves of blood, in the life of the tribe

I am dead to all the world

Except when the noises sleep or hide