Hear slavishly herd
In the features of the face
of the farmerboy there’s doubt
about the sense of the thrown dices
about divine love deep inside you
his spineless turning hand
knocks with the rithm
of the lyrics in his book
following my caring of his fears
aroused by the touch of his tongue
exited with the whispering finger
wettish stinging in his pubescent ear
brings my lovesongs to his sense of hearing.
Dit is mijn wijn... 