Antonin Artaud - Bauhaus

The young man held a gun to the head of God

Stick this holy cow

Put the audience in action

Let the slaughtered take a bow

The old man’s words, white hot knives

Slicing through warm butter

The butter is the heart

The rancid peeling soul

Scratch pictures on asylum walls

Broken nails and matchsticks

Hypodermic, hypodermic, hypodermic

Red fix

One man’s poison another man’s meat

One man’s agony another man’s treat

Artaud lived with his neck

Placed firmly in the noose

Eyes black with pain

Limbs in cramps contorted

The theatre and its double

The void and the aborted

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones

Those Indians wank on his bones