| That night, I watched people fucking on my computer | 
| Nobody can see me looking anyway | 
| It’s late | 
| And everything turns into a kind of dirty | 
| My skin starts breaking like LCD | 
| I feel a desire | 
| One I don’t know, one I don’t own | 
| I’m free | 
| I turn off the light and dress myself in silver and gold | 
| I go out into the edge of the city | 
| Tread on my twigs that are not yet burning | 
| The weight of my boots makes them break | 
| And smoke comes out from be-be-be-ne-ne-neath the ba-ba-bark | 
| Like a burnt-out match! | 
| Like sex without the body! | 
| Like smoke rings, smoke rings from my pussy! | 
| A night vision, and bodies turned soft like newborn jellyfish | 
| Mushrooms, white MacBooks, blind bodies with empty sockets | 
| I stare back at my gaze that belongs to your body | 
| I ask «is there nothing but seen or seen | 
| Is there nothing to serve nothing | 
| And nothing and nothing?» | 
| I’m free | 
| I take off my face and torso | 
| Live bare and barely | 
| I go out into the haze of the city | 
| Tread on my twigs and feel them break, yeah | 
| But I’m looking for something else | 
| There has to be more to burning | 
| I’m losing myself | 
| More to burning and then sex and God | 
| I tear off the ties | 
| Oslo Oedipus, Oslo Oedipus | 
| I am Oslo Oedipus | 
| Tearing my eyes in and out and | 
| In and out and in and out and | 
| In and out and in and out and | 
| In and out and in and out and | 
| In and out of face! |