Diary of a Dead Nazi

Love song of Pure Exhaustion.

12.09.03 - 5:16 a.m.

This is the end of loathing,
On the celebrant's broken back,
This is the heart of stopping,
The heart of the hard attack.

This is my brow you're mopping,
And that is my total lack,

Of the fine points of conversation,
And of balm to pour in the crack.

I am a dead composer,
You're my alas, alack.