“Wild Women with Steak-Knives,” from the tragedy-grotesque Eyes Without Blood by Diamanda Galas, is “a cold examination of unrepentant monomania, the devoration instinct, for which the naive notion of filial mercy will only cock a vestigial grin.”
Wild Women with Steak-Knives (The Homicidal Love Song for Solo Scream)
I want you to get down on your knees
And I want you to ask me:
What is my name
What is my name
What is my name
What is my name
What is my
What is
Your name
I have been looking for a killer
And I'm not talking about meatballs
I am talking about steak
Steak
Steak
Yes...killer
I commend myself to a death of no importance
To the amputation of all seeking hands
Pulling, grasping, with the might of nations
Of sirens, in a never ending bloody-bliss
To the death of mere savagery
And the birth of pearly, white terror
Wild women with veins slashed and wombs spread
Singing songs of the death instinct
In voices yet unheard
Praising nothing but the promise of death on earth
Laughing seas of grinning red, red eyes
All washed ashore and devoured
By hard and unseeing spiders
I commend myself to a death beyond all hope of
Redemption
Beyond the desire for forgetfulness
Beyond the desire to feel all things at every moment
But to never forget
To kill for the sake of killing
And with a pure and most happy heart
Extoll and redeem disease
She was hanging...
And her...
And I asked you: well, well
And ask you: well, well
What would you do
Angel in the house tonight
