We should want More.
One, Two, Three...
Home is a cardboard box
Littered with holes, both pried and tired
Cowering behind transparent locks
Our pathetic banal bovines graze
Pitter-patter tapping rhythm
Perpetual petty things amaze
Four, Five, Six...
Party to humble vermin and bashful worms
Sitting in happy filth and colourful dust
The helping hands on cunning clocks
Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten.
Do you need colours with 101 shades of grey?
Our bulimic lies washed in chloroform
Saturated satanic libido in every way
A gram of butter keeps me slim
Their eyes only glisten on fool’s gold
Gluttons perish on wasted curds away
End transmission.
I scream inside to avoid the finger I eat books of dead authors and try to absolve madness with contraband I dream, I feel, I reach, I touch, I die a death each time I run home and I bathe in sewage to feel so wrong I make love to the world through my hands and catch the 9:07 to make myself smile.
Absolution is a clergyman's folly and I look for Him within
when the clock says 26:01
seas part
miracles made
as I gaze
into the light green sky
I cleanse my sin.
