Antonin Artaud Lyrics - Burning From The Inside - 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 pealing soul 

Scratch pictures on asylum walls 

Broken nails and matchsticks 

Hypodermic, hypodermic, hypodermic 

Red fix 

One man's poison is another mans meat 

One man's agony, another mans treat 

Artaud living with his neck 

Placed firmly in the noose 

Eyes black with pain 

Limbs in cramps, contorted 

The theater 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 

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