I dance to the silences of the echoing dead,... cheers or cries.
Of life, or your death? Oh, on rhythm do you doubt?
I say, most opportune now, for grief and gibes shall always blow,
on the chimes of our fate's window. We, the bastards of fate, forlorn,
While Kaal, our father makes love with latter wombs, as soon we are born.
Infer now, how we plug our dooms... task being only to drill and perish,
into the whorish Death's womb!!! Need you more music or rhythm
then? Unclothe thyself now, that dull facade, you scoundrels...
and ejaculate the stinking semen of memories... your dirty carcasses and dance!!!
Dhir ta ni, dhir ta ni, dhirr dhirr dhirr dhirr dhirr dhirr
Na dhre dhre dhim ta na na, ta na na na, ta na na...
Dhirr ta ni, dhirr ta ni dha.......
Dance even though your feet begin to melt, burning and draining
those horrific sperms of bloodied rain. Or else know that
thy lord, the dancing Nataraj shall as ever remain displeased.
Dreadful promises did you make, while you played the guile and
veiled your lustful heart. Do you deny? Now… art thou glad?
Or art thou guilty? Now stop that tampering or escaping the question and
Hark! Rich and beggar are we in the same awful life… when birth and death,
Does start knocking our ill-fate’s doors. Feeling low… eh you crook! Then dance!
Dhoom ta ni ni dhirr dhirr ta noom, dhirr dhirr dhirr dhirr,
Ta na ta ni ta ni, dhirr dhirr dhhirr dhirr,
Dhoom...ta na ta ni, te ti ka da gadi gana,
Dhirr dhirr dhirr dhirr... ta na ta ni, te ti ka da gadi gana...
Dhirr toom ta dhirr dhirr toom ta, na ddhri ta ta ddhri........
Kran ta kran ta kran dha, Kran ta kran ta kran dha.
Your tears were my acidic chalice when I sipped. And see now, that harlot Death’s
Splash! Blobuppp!... Blobuppp!... Blobuppp! My feet bleed but Purgatory
has merely begun. And you piteous fools do ask me, “Stop”? Forgot so soon?
But the mucus isn't out yet… Oh Shiva! Why aren't thou at least awake?
Were you ever then? Is the Holy Grail warm then? Does Zeus hold the thunder then?
How should this brat redeem? No chances given. No hopes to rest upon?
If Thou all be truly terrorist Gods, unfurl that rage of thine and burn me and make
me utter such cries, dysphoric and euphoric… to startle and scare the goons
who dwell dead, among the silence in ashes or their graves. I yet bleed! I yet dance!
