Polar Nettles کے بول

He takes his dinner in the bath Love sickened and infirmed The orderly found him there Fileted on the marble stairs Hat still in hand His smoking remains Blown out by a kiss from the sunday scene Sunday soon sunday soon someday soon Someday someday someday His eyes are closed his mouth has named her rosary her lips and tongue She is the centrifuge that throws the spies from the sun The cistine chapel dated with the gattling gun Someday soon [x4] Oh the meadows set on him Move like starlings of the clearing and tenor of a foggy tongue The forcefield round his frosty hips Whose shape recalls the (?) That buried him but on his lips the last rites of man Someday soon