Listen to the crunching Music of the crashing mopeds all around her Painted with the burning Powders of exotic funerals that surround her Chronos feasts on his children Like turning mango flesh Will the trouble cease When she pays off the police? Infection filled my head Like springtime flower beds and evaporating trash Pressure in the skull Like leaking timber, hold me Dreams so wonderful Chronos feasts on his children Like turning mango flesh Will the trouble cease When she pays the pigs off?