So it's like this intoxicating rhythm, this passion beyond belief

That encompasses every fiber of existence in this room.

It feels  like a heartbeat or like some thrashing exotic beast

That can't control its anger or quench its thirst,

It feels like a fucking torturous kind of pleasure.

The air isn't air, the air is a solid hammer that pounds your skull and your chest

With the color red, with the color blue.

With the color purple.

You're flying in a sea of pulses;

You're drinking from a sieve of desire.

It burns your lungs and flows through your body in the form of a slow, sensual wave.