Beating the thresholds
Swirling blue coats
Rumors for witnesses
Good for the Yard work.
Can you feel my purity?
A joyful bargain, not afraid to accept
Just a ticket to the Theatre
Of a whore-marionettes.
Hitting the knees, bouncing to me
Can you feel my purity?
Pouring your soul with the clarity blade
Onto blue bricks of a street paved.
Can you feel my purity?
The grand illusion of poisonous life
Can you feel my purity?
Under blind London skies
Can you feel my purity?
Beautiful in the middle of the mess
Can you feel my purity?
Pouring your soul onto the dress
Yellow lights in blood-cracked veins
Sleepy eyes in dried-out frames
People, go home — nothing left to stare at
Just another poor Whitechapel shame...
Just another poor Whitechapel shame...
Can you feel my purity?
© Copyright: Натаниель Йорк, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №226102500179
Свидетельство о публикации №226102500179
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