And his suit was filled with piss and funky funeral receipts

D|o|G, 2006 | I dette digt, der med universitær kompetence skaber nye rammer for forståelsen af det moderne menneskes liv, flettes storbyens pulserende hverdagsliv med uhyggelig dygtighed ind i den store, historiske dimensions-strøm, der populært og i folkemunde går under navnet tiden. Den selvberoende ånd og den universelle syndsbevidsthed, der i disse år stedse svækkes, gennemsyrer alt i denne manifestation af kunstnerisk geni. Blandt kritikere er der almindelig enighed om, at Johnny Cash snart ville se sig overgået af D|o|G, hvis førstnævnte ikke var død.

And his suit was filled with piss and funky funeral receipts

Hell is in my pants and heaven is in the condom machine at an illegal take away/law firm. You sexy, me in debt and dying, but having the time of my life in Russia looking for love and medieval underwear. I run naked through the city, while getting phone numbers and email addresses from hot homeless guys. You lie at the beach looking at the sky; I also lie at the beach relaxing, while being married to 54 homosexual doves in Atlanta. Yellow traffic monks lay eggs inside my womb, while I work as prostitute/lumber/care taker at the nearest KFC. Hope you have settled and lost your driver’s licence. And remember: Stay in school and off the streets, or and stay out of school and on the streets.

Lay low and work your hips.