You are the dark cloud that sh*ts blackness on us You are the sun of a misty morning in a concentration camp You are the pale eye of the Moon witnessing a rape of a retarded girl in the moors of Yorkshire You are the cry that can be heard from that house beyond the lake You are rain, playing a tune to the window of the one Who is, with tears in his eyes su*king the barrel of his brother´s rifle In your valley the incest families reside You are the locked door that leads to the basement where Sarah was nineteen years old And we are here With our clenched hands And our sharpened knives Waiting Waiting And waiting