**

High up on the mountain, the hawk's eye view,
fills up the chest and stirs up the tension anew.

It keeps on pumping blood, but abhors emotions.
and craves for devotion.

But how stupid! God is dead!

Holiday

My heart would be hung up , way up on the clothesline,
my body would cling to a slinky bikini,
oh baby, me and you, just us, now thats fine.

The wind prevails, sexy and southern, white rum smooth,
And while we bob our heads to the happy rhythm,
you carry me, fair, to the small, straw top room.