Testo Catastrophe

The sky is full of violins The red horizon bursts at the seams No-ones able to play them well The red horizon and a smoky smell The town is burning down again and again The civil law flees in his van The laughter dies away mouthlock, heartburn Dreams of survival, a matter of civil concern Illegal operations, narrow rubberbands A burning light through a heating lens The scalpel is blunt, the doctor's infected The visible muscle is addictive, injected The town went to ruins, only the numbers survived The fascist numbers are marching in lines They're brainwash-taped at the gene-factory A heap of rubble is all what I see A catastrophe A catastrophe Perhaps we all will die, perhaps we all will fly in another dream, to another town where pink briefs are gleaming in the sky in a town with one last public problem Why should I fill out this taxform, why?