a blue neon cross on the tower

is shining over manila's streets

where they are standing and selling

their breakable dolls bodies

she said she is twelve years old

and her name is arlene

on her left forarm

are some small scares to see

beutiful faces and the call of the flash

40 dolars for a life without choice

when the trip is abating

and a sober coldness through her body creeps

she has the feeling to set her body

from that crawling skin free

so arlene cuts at her arms

a fast cut with the razor blade

empty eyes look tired and depressed

unnamed glow in the eyes of nameless

but ghostly white faces are still waiting

blow up forever the fat old folks

I wish to hear a voice that shouts

they should be sent into hell

they should be sent to the sword



oh arlene don't cut yourself

no more cuts

no danger to death no

no more cuts