Babelogue — текст песни (Patti Smith)

I haven`t fucked much with the past, but I`ve fucked plenty with
the future. Over the skin of silk are scars from the splinters
of stations and walls I`ve caressed. A stage is like each bolt
of wood, like a log of Helen, is my pleasure. I would measure
the success of a night by the way by the way by the amount of
piss and seed I could exude over the columns that nestled the
P.A. Some nights I`d surprise everybody by skipping off with
a skirt of green net sewed over with flat metallic circles which
dazzled and flashed. The lights were violet and white. I had
an ornamental veil, but I couldn`t bear to use it. When my hair
was cropped, I craved covering, but now my hair itself is a veil,
and the scalp inside is a scalp of a crazy and sleepy Comanche
lies beneath this netting of the skin. I wake up. I am lying
peacefully I am lying peacefully and my knees are open to the
sun. I desire him, and he is absolutely ready to seize me. In
heart I am a Moslem; in heart I am an American; in heart I am
Moslem, in heart I`m
an American artist, and I have no guilt. I seek pleasure. I
seek the nerves under your skin. The narrow archway; the layers;
the scroll of ancient lettuce. We worship the flaw, the belly,
the belly, the mole on the belly of an exquisite whore. He spared
the child and spoiled the rod. I have not sold myself to God.