The Howler کے بول

Here is the angel of the worlds' desire Placed on trial To hide in shrouded alley silhouettes With cigarette coiled To strike at passing voices Dark and suspect Here is the howling ire Here is the sacred face of rendezvous In subway sour Whose grand delusions prey Like intellect in lunatic minds Intent and focused on The long thin matches To light the howling fire No, no, not me Burn, I don't wanna burn