bourgeois villains

 

power corruption and lies

there’s a bloody dynamic

that’s the real fucking story

I watch the news

and it sickens my heart

oh yeah, good things happen

but bad things happen too

 

I keep my own counsel

I don’t have to choose between

drug fuelled petty tyrants

and bourgeois super villains

they stoke this cruel economy

with avarice and jealousy

but they do fuck all for me

toxic

There was arsenic in his voice, boozy and bitter with recrimination, dark and foreboding as a winter storm. He was hostage to his fate; tied down by mewling brats and locked into the mundane drama of domestic life. His only succour was the drink that made him mean and the memories that only fuelled his dissatisfaction.

He was something of a philosopher when drunk – but his homilies smelled of meat and murder, and his declarations were as brutal as his hands. His facts were plain as his daily bread – his fictions as transparent as his liquor. He seemed to sup from that poisoned cup that eats at a man’s insides. He spewed forth a venomous mixture of sarcasm and bile that burned the ears and shamed the listener. I can honestly say I never knew him, I never saw beyond the disguise, he was an enigma to me and a puzzle to my heart.

boots

 

I’m nothing but a stranger in this land

my awkward gait and twisted tongue

lost for a time, but now in season

these are the suicidal days of autumn

when heavy winds scourge the earth

and persistent rain bleaches the life

from sallow-skinned natives

 

I’m a flightless bird, a drowning fish

a crock of broken promises

at the grey end of the rainbow

I’m a cesspit of stinking lies

buried beneath the garden weeds

the distillation of crocodile tears

bittersweet and poisonous

 

I’m the product of excreta

spewed from angry mouths

a child birthed in anguish

and raised on baneful legends

incongruous momentum

sows havoc at my heels

the accumulation of oxidized dreams

red ochre are caked to my feet

heavy shit to scrape from my boots 

good boy

 

I swallowed it whole

forced it down

like a good boy

I didn’t say I was

a good boy

I said I was like

a good boy

I never let on

never complained

suppressed

and repressed

my inner rage

this ain’t the way

it’s supposed to be

cutting around

with the flesh

machine

I should be whole

if not holy

I should have

forgiven

if not

forgotten

but I feel it still

lodged in my throat

the bitterest pill

and the judas goat

games

 

power and pleasure      I succumbed to those temptations         because it’s all that I understand          after all, it’s only human nature      to get some while you can      some see life as a game         does it feel like a game to you?     well, some believe that it is     in this life we choose the games we play      little men dream of power      the kind of power that’s magnetic to the corruptible       it’s hard to resist power      when you never had any      but I stand my quarter     ever the invisible hero     resisting the daily oppression     in the comfort of my living room      I got my personal power     I won’t relinquish that       I’ve always lived as I see fit     but it was never a game to me

saint jude

 

it’s been a totally dismal time      and that’s to be expected      there’s a limit to endurance        I’m afraid I’m long past mine     it’s been globally catastrophic     I’ve been obscured by filthy clouds        and my sun refuses to shine     I’m told there is rain all over       but no-one seems to mind       I’ve been searching for solutions      one trick at a time      but the devil is in the details      and he’s no friend of mine

it’s been days since I last slept     the nights have not been kind     I’m cutting up kinda rough     I lost my peace of mind       someone give me strength      I’m searching for a sign       have my prayers been heard?       will it work out fine?     they tell me brother jesus is the savior of mankind         he’s been trying to save the world       but he’s running out of time

voices

 

all day long I languished       there in the TV room       the attitude was somber        the tone was general gloom        they promised me a window        where I could see the street        when my executioners  arrived         I wanted a ringside seat

voices from the locked ward       were calling out my name       they said there’d been a murder         and  I was the one to blame          but it couldn’t have been me        I wouldn’t hurt a fly        besides, I’d spent the month in jail         and that’s the perfect alibi

but the voices from the locked ward          had my name and number      they’d primed the dreaded meat machine          and were eager to take me under         yes, there were voices in my head         who wished that I was dead          my thoughts gave voice to fear           and fear gave way to dread

the mind can play some tricks          and mine was in partial eclipse        there was poison in my blood          I’d explain it if I could        I’ve seen some wicked shit         that would make your stomach sick         but I learned to embrace the voices            I loved their crazy shtick 

withered

 

down at the meat rack tavern      no-one need drink alone       but I go there to breathe      I like it on my own      I’m no longer in the game     my wild oats are sown      I used to be a player       I lived by different rules then      I really was a cunt       I was frugal with my love       because it was all about my needs     I just lurched from drama to crisis        using women as my crutch

I was never short of partners     I still can’t work out why        but I think my appeal was based on charm         that’s another word for lies      I lied so well I fooled myself     for all I know I’m lying now      but I’d rather be a liar          than someone you can’t trust

I don’t really care that much     everything worked out fine    seasons wax and wane     all that trouble feels like a distant dream now       like someone else’s life      I no longer have that hunger      summer withered on the vine      lovers came and lovers went     their black and blue remembrances are tattooed on my mind  

morbid

 

I spend too many waking hours whispering to the dead     I’m preoccupied with death     it foreshadows my life    because   I’ve been close       close enough to have  tasted its venom      its icy cold tendrils  wrapped around my heart     death perches on every shoulder        waiting for the moment       to snuff the candle out     and claim another life      an ocean of darkness awaits      can’t you hear its roar?

broken

 

she said “nothing breaks like a heart”     ain’t that the gospel truth      that bittersweet gem         plays upon my mind from time to time      both of us crying alone       where’s the sense in that?        for my part I have no illusions       great and terrible moments     scar my entire life      but her memory feels like home      because hearts are meant to be broken     and I prefer mine to remain so      

yes, I hold a candle for her still         wherever she may be      I grieved for her presence     and a broken heart is an open heart    I handed out the pieces      like bloody calling cards      I must confess         I took it hard       but I’m over it now      more or less        I choose to remember       I don’t choose to regret      a broken heart you never forget       

justice

 

people say I have a wicked mind         that I was born a criminal        but I ride the punches dealt me        I only steal from thieves      and I never mugged a chump       I roll off easy from a hard days graft       with some pennies in my pocket       and a belly full of laughs        is that a crime?      I don’t feel guilty

it’s the law of the jungle        and this is a jungle     the rich steal billions      while we struggle for nickels and dimes        there are apex predators riding in limousines      while their prey eat from garbage bins       would you have me do that?      would you have me stealing garbage?        or is that just another crime      in your lexicon of justice?

sacred mechanics

 

words don’t come easy      I’ve forgotten how to write       (if I ever knew)        I mean what purpose does it serve?        why does it happen?       how?       I simply can’t remember       I think I’m failing      I’m going down      I have no words to hold me up      I’ve been bound and gagged by doubt         I demand to see a lawyer      before I am buried in apathy    so paint me as a child      light the touch paper        and set my rocket loose       I have a song trapped in me      I’d love to sing it to you        but I’m all out of juice