Acid Drinkers - The rust that I feed

Like Apollinaire - with soft words,I though, what I overcarres you...But I've wrapped around my hand Barbed wire - bloody, long...And even so I took my boots off I was smelling of my thoughts Thoughts crooked like a any dick Thoughts like rainy, heavy clouds...And Benedict's strong fist Hanging over sleepy head I was looking in his eyes Can he hear your swan-song ???Let the night carry your singing Up your ears !!! it is worth !!!Let Amadeus turns in his grave Let him curse - it's not his note...The rust that I feed, that I grow Resistant for any words The rust that I feed, that I grow Resistant for any words The man who carried the Christ He's got a knife in his hand When he will mature - he'll strike You know, I know - I deserve The night carry your song Up your ears - it is worth!!!Julius turns in his grave Let him curse - that's not his words...The rust that I feed, that I grow Resistant for any words The rust that I feed, that I grow Resistant for any words The rust that I feed, that I grow Resistant for any words The rust that I feed, that I grow Resistant for any words...