Antonin Artaud by: Bauhaus

The young man held a gun to the head of God stick this holy cow put the audience in action let the slaughtered take a bow
The old man's words, white hot knives slicing through worm butter the butter is the heart the rancid pealing soul
Scratch pictures on asylum walls broken nails and match sticks hypodermic, hypodermic, hypodermic red fix
One man's poison is another man's meat One man's agony, another man's treat Artaud lived with his neck placed firmly in the noose eyes black with pain limbs in vamps, contorted the theatre and its double the void and the aborted
Those Indians wank on his bones