So it's like this intoxicating rhythm, this passion beyond belief
That encompasses every fiber of existence in this room.
It feels like a heartbeat or like some thrashing exotic beast
That can't control its anger or quench its thirst,
It feels like a fucking torturous kind of pleasure.
The air isn't air, the air is a solid hammer that pounds your skull and your chest
With the color red, with the color blue.
With the color purple.
You're flying in a sea of pulses;
You're drinking from a sieve of desire.
It burns your lungs and flows through your body in the form of a slow, sensual wave.