Old day fades
and a new darkness fills my room
While an unknown pleasure
surrounds
my prostrate body
in 5.1 ways
White lines pulsate
from my belly as
Ian Curtis emerges front and center
His shadow plays tricks
on the crowd as he
dead fly dances on the stage
Hook, Sumner and Morris
restore the old order
of melancholic rocking rhythm
Shearing my sinews
leaving them waving
detaching muscle from bone
creating another bloody disconnect
Curtis breaths into my open sores:
I've been waiting for a guide to come
and take me by the hand
Could these sensations make me feel the
pleasures of a normal man?
These sensations barely interest me for
another day
I've got the spirit; lose the feeling –
take the shock away.
Suddenly he falls ill again
He twists as Hook turns again
He writhes as Sumner riffs again
He drops like Morris' sticks again
His epileptic episode is my episode of
tears
Too many years spent in the wilderness
Too much truth fallen in the shadows
Too few bother to look there
Another bloody disconnect
