Antonin Artaud

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 mans 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 mans poison another mans meat
One mans agony another mans treat
Artaud lived with his neck
Paced firmly in the noose
Eyes black with pain,limbs in cramps contorted
The theatre and its double
The void and the aborted
Those indians wonk in his bones(repeat)