Rhythm is both the song's maniacal and its demonic charge
It is the original breath
It is the whisper of unremitting demand
What do you still want to be said of the singer
What do you think you can still draw from my lips
The rhythm

How your singer's blood is incensed at the depth of sound
The rhythm

Exact presence that no fantasy can represent
Purveyor of the old secret
Alive with the blood that boils again
Is pulsing where the rhythm is torn apart
Lacerations echo in the mouths open, erotic sky
where dance together the lost trenches of rhythm
and an imploring immobility

The rhythm

The rhythm

The rhythm, the rhythm

The rhythm

The rhythm, the rhythm

The rhythm

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