Steadynnat a motorik clipnnthere's a man in a trenchnnwith a quivering lipnnwith swung-sling bladesnnto a switch blade-cnnnni read it in a booknnit's a white, white fantaseeennand then the sharp stair nnit sprang at me slownni need this white fantaseeenni need to knownnnnsaw four horses drowningnnand three without mennni cried outnnbut i couldn't take him innnI pray to god, there's nothing below!nnhorses drowning in the amber snownnnnthe skull of the star,nnmarred slit right opennnfinger of my good hand, hiltednntook a bead as a tokennni scolded skinnnmy body was a chambernni held my breathnnmy body was a mangernni killer-carve it, i maim it to a treennit's a whiite, whiite fantaseennit's a whiite, whiite fantasee
Whiite Fantaseee
Slim Twig
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