He took several deep breaths
For his heart was beating madly
What cord would bind him
A bit of music, a ribbon raving
How should he be decorated
A pair of clever wings fashioned in gold
In an ancient garment
Or the remnants of a child's coat
Dissolving in a vat of tears
He studied himself
He had, in his perversity, welcomed such lamenting
For he was feverish in the tears of anyone - of the adoring - cooled him
Until he became perilous to stop their flow
Tears also filled him with revulsion
No one one could unresolve a soul composed with tears
For one which surely drowned
And it occurred to him, standing at this place
Having no heir, no beloved
That he was alone, and he must be to himself his own son
And his own father, and his own compassion
To love and to elevate oneself as a god
Pressing against the blue and burning into form
And all at once, the complexity of the self in its purity and its vanity
Was revealed to him, burning into a form of its own
And the sea turned around him
And being given to the sea, amid sighs of release
The sleeves of his white shirt billowed
He had dressed the foam
Purity, in the arms of the child as a smothered lamb
A crushed joy
For one moment, he saw the foam melt and mushroom
A torso of cloud that hardened
And he opened his shirt
For he desired nothing more than to stretch across and be absorbed
And his blood was sounding
And his ears were ringing
Til he was more than a little annoyed
To find that he was weeping
He spread his length of arms to the sun like a savage (savage)
He stretched them into the dawn, into warmth (into warmth)
And he believed he could do anything
His elevated temperature would gift him with unlimited mobility
Then nourished, refreshed, he would harden, expand
And all the muscles were contracting
And he could feel it coming
And all he could do was draw what he could and shed what was wretched
And all the muscles were contracting
And images rushed with amazon force
Some pleasurable, some liquid
But glowing high, the helmet of skin
And he could feel everything
He could feel everything
The purity wherein all forms of light and death are exposed
And all the muscles were contracting
And all the muscles were contracting
And all the muscles were contracting
And he was merging
Drenched in pink, in vibrant, the skin pulled back
Like the hand of God
(where? ok)
(where do I start)
(alright, ok)
Um, I'm ninety feet up, ninety feet up
Attached to each foot, attached to each foot as the deck of a ship
This part, oh ok
Picking through the ruins with a stick
That eased against my legs and the bottom of my feet
In my pocket, the silky roll of my stockings
Oh, my stomach
The fluid music of the crowd that highlights the suspicious rivers
And the ripple in the waters, just the rapids
Just another floating dog, just another
Floating dog
I'm numb, numb and dumb, dumb
Dubbed and brittle, I cannot speak
I'm unable to, I'm unable to read my lines
The filmmaker is blinded by the bright night
He's going underground, he's going under, he's going somewhere
An assassin goes undercover
Fascist or lover, it doesn't matter
Sins of Pasolini remain
The sins of Pasolini remain even as he is lowered wrapped in a flag of flies
It unfurls over there, above the wildflowers, erect fellows playmate
Wrecked fellas
And they move around under sticky plumage
Their sticky plumage
Some kind of mannequin dress
Come on
Come on
Look, he's free, stumbling over the rocks
Dehumanized, no ties with the shore
He drags through the tired halls that lead to the grand ballroom
His white shirt is rumpled (do it again, do it again)
He lies
On the beach
Like a swan in the dust
Smooth as a hawk
I sup and plot and map out my territory
This earth, this earth
I've been eating
I've, I've been eating
Oh what, oh, what
What?
This earth I've been eating, ha
I enter a ballroom littered with oversized film cans
Shots are blown on the curve of an exit
There's no way out, we're all alone together (come on, come on)
We've been tracked, we are tracked within an expensive joke
A majestic budget
Regard, she's my face
Regard, slots everywhere
Pasolini, video and
He lays in the sand
In his white shirt
Like a swan in the dust
Film disintegrates
Breaks into parts
It's a ship, it's a motor, it's my heart
(come on, come on, get up)
Pasolini rising from the sea
Victim of fascists
Fascists, faggots, and the purity of his art
It doesn't matter
Pasolini is dead
Showers of petals, flower girls deflowered
Virgins skewered and devoured
(alright, cut, stop, stop, cut, cut)
Come on man, our mines are going
And life, like film, goes on (what's your name?)
[Italian chanting]