Golden are my hands
the ice melted with the night
trough the crystal sunshine heat
In the air season's steam
blast my shadow, blessed my soul
the hallway's narrow as you walk
Dry throat drunken lullabies
Your pale blue eyes
and that sweet red wine
It's not the beat, is the heat.
It's not your poem, are your legs.
It's not the sand, are the bedlinen sheets.
In my golden hands
no Los lost,
no creation mistery.
Hear a tiny spider singing a song
with the melody of dreams
and death of a crow

Incendiary

"The demon is not as powerful a walking across the street The angel is not as powerful as looking an then not looking "

Our freedom is power
Freedom is the most powerful thing, nor demons or angels, nor man or beast is more than power of freedom.
"Beautiful people you too are power. Remember your power."

Holy poem, a poem is power
Holy those songs, cause art is power
Powerful arrow of love, that arrow of love is holy.

I see you coming, i see you coming
Don't bleed in the street.
Come
cry here
Come, I see you coming.
Put your hat on, walk across the street where they can see you
Shine in the light
Shine with your light.
Light the dark hopeless holes in hearts
light the fire in their minds

Light winged light O the wonder light

And he talks to the gods
he invoke the muses
heretic like a real poet
giving power to the people
invoking beauty
heretic poet
rebel heart
freedom stab

Howl! Howl! Howl like if you were the last wolf alive
Howl like if your vocal cords were about to fade
Howl like if your hands could reach the frozen snow in the top of the mounts
Howl like if the woods were your home
Howl like if you were silence that breaks with the crunch of a glacial ice
A howl in the middle of the night is power
Howl from the beauty
Howl like Banga, Auwww!
Howl because you are loved, Howl like if you were dead.
Howl, you are alive.
Howl like a broken glass in Paris
Howl like a drunken beggar in Hoxton
Howl like a fox running in Albion Road, like a frightened cat
Howl like a young and alive porteño at the konex
Howl like a beatnik in Bowery
Howl like a queer in Greenwich Village
Howl like North London's kids in the riots
Howl as loud as the buzz in your ears the night after
Howl as constant as the non-stop talking conscience
Howl like if you were the writer of all the books ever written.

The Queen of Hoxton (making friends with the homeless)

The real Queen of Hoxton has no fancy dresses
and doesn't cover his face with tons of make-up.
He's no shallow and empty hipster strolling
their falsity and hypocritical quotes

The real Queen of Hoxton, is truly lost
in the night and he tells me that he doesn't know where to go
The Queen of Hoxton is a rolling stone,
and there is no song, there is no complacent reading,
there are no shallow quotes that found true in their words.

The Queen of Hoxton with his pale and deep blue eyes,
his cut lip, old scars but burning wounds,
The Queen of Hoxton with his thick soft hands,
under the bridge with train roaring over his head,
at the bus stop, resting at the post office door.

Getting lost in a goddanm city doesn't sound fun anymore,
Being lost it's the pain in what he says, and the tears in his eyes,
There's a flat back in Vilnus called Home but there are no
paths that leads you there, although I say "You'll find your way home"

I look at you Queen of Hoxton while you talk
wondering how you got here, to this cold night
standing next to me, with your coins in your pocket,
and the cigarrette between your fingers,
I feel shame of seeing you wasted.
Queen of hoxton, I don't want to think about myself.

The Queen of Hoxton, shouts "Catholic Apostolic Roman"
and beats his breast
Half lithuanian, half russian
The Queen of Hoxton fought against "motherfucker
russians", he killed dozens of russians.
"Russians don't like us" and he splits the sidewalk
and swears "motherfucker russians",
then back to me "Sorry about that".

Queen of Hoxton gets into to the shop
and asks me to wait for him,
He invites me a beer with those coins in his pocket,
Maybe i'm one of the few that looked him in his eyes today
I watch how people around look at him, and they can see nothing
and they can see nothing 'cause they have nothing to give,
in they empty minds, in their warmest clothes,
in their flat hearts, they can't see any bright,
the bright that doesn't shine, the bright that is light,
that one! that one that makes you feel, a write,
and makes you mad because there is something bigger
over the dust and dirty, there is something bigger as you feel it.
And that spanish boy, i feel sorry about the anger in his eyes and
the arrogance in his mouth.

Queen of Hoxton, I say goodbye to you,
I walk down the rain hoping to find home.