Terminus - Xtul Lyrics - Singles - Psychic Tv

Quiet and hooded, his eyes stared out, small hands 

make patterns on the window. Body shifting on wood, 

dog outside the door, flickering memories as trains 

maneuver in the old men's eyes. Forever part of a sleep- 

ing world, waiting for him to come. Lost dreams of 

childhood forgotten like hope. These lives are grey 

stones made for cemeteries, this time the victim is 

desired, like misery. He stepped down from the train, 

dust on road and clothes, across the way a boy was 

grinning, hard-on obvious in torn grey trousers 

inherited from an earlier victim of the white horse. 

Filing past the flowers and signs full of dreams, 

light of night filtering where woof tiles slipped, 

into that darkness. Each ritual makes demand, a hope- 

less coil of expensive death affirming our exeistence. 

The direction never changes, never falters. Along 

those derelict lines lines to journey's end. Small hands 

smear juice on flesh squeezing tight crinkling of 

skin against worn eyes. There is no need of light. 

Somewhere, in the secret cathedral, small movements, 

the whole area covered in sheets of snow, pitted by 

huts. He had no expectations, there was no reason, 

breathing short as the text on the wall. Whenever the 

dog moved, the night trembled, shimmering like water 

moved by leaves in a forest. Marks of cold spray in 

the dust, as in the future faded by choice. Our appetite 

for miracles is not enough. Here, only animals 

remain, immaculate, seduced by pain. Ending fear into 

specters of welcome. Floor stained with patients. The 

moment of least action. He moved like a rat in rubble 

toward the sheets of snow, awake and empty, like an 

old house, the place where all dreams meet. "He was 

grinning before he jumped". 

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Las night the boy came. Open arms. Black hair. 

Strong. Empty pale face. A volunteer. Unsure of why 

he came. Seduced by pain. A faded painting. Waiting 

for release, he blinked, looked up at the ceiling, 

let out a tiny gasp praying for oblivion. 

No engines anymoore. The machine engine's stopped. No 

ghosts of death playing in the grass. Just simple, as 

you would expect. No physical core. No smiles of love 

from pitted carriages. Just an empty town. Derelict. 

No way to identify. Sound playing across skin like 

fingers. Just as ampty as flesh. What do you want? 

Nothing in particular. No reason at all. Just a noise 

of dreams at the door. Just as before. Did you see 

that? 

Photos 

This is the place where all roads meet, the place 

where all is the secret. The Place where time stands 

still in the comfort of night and love becomes will 

in the presence of light. I never want to leave. I 

never want to leave. I never want to leave.