existential

 this place    burns me out                 with wearisome  repetition    its suburban cliché                   weighs heavy       on my doldrums          and I’m drowning          in an ocean     of sundays            I’ve gone native    in the great nocturnal        I’m flying solo       from now on in   but I'll bail out     before I’m found out              for I have deviated         from the norm so blanket me                with tar and feathers                lead me to the killing floor                   I’ve had enough of the social system        my heart is heavy dread and my bloody knees are sore

paint me blue

 I fled my perch        on a promise            dived head first     into your blues        your terrible ocean blues              you were snake oil and gold dust                        half pretence           half mystery             I fell for you  like the sucker         you took me for                        ‘call me sometime’             that’s what you said           but I lost your number                     along with my head                        you seemed  bona fide                  your credentials were good       but I wasn’t committed      just passing through           what was the catalyst            for my change of heart?        I don’t remember        was it something you said?      the lies that you told?               the tears that you shed?                        you painted me blue                      I painted you red                   I can’t reach you now            why would I want to?        your facts were all fictions     I’ve been once bitten                     and that left its mark

raven

 death is the bird            perched on your shoulder                   who counts your days             and marks out your time                that song is mine                 and never grows older               so bake me some cake           that was hard in the making                 this world belongs           to my children and I

I’ve gone alfresco              from no television        I gather my news    straight from the vine               we’re crashing out            to another dimension          these shoes were insured        for sunnier climes         I poured me some sense               from an unopened bottle            and drank me a truth         that won’t be denied

if you see it      you’ll be it     so don’t get excited              this train will roll     to the end of the line               I can hear music        wrapped up in thunder         I know the words    that make us divine              I’m like the raven              that carries you over      and paints you immortal       if you’re so inclined  

 

the ministry of filth

 if you look for dirt               you’re bound  to find it                        like attracts like                   that’s the law  of intent                        did you run out of pockets?       have you lifted                     more than you can chew?        you better give me everything                        before I wind up dead                    the pigs strip searched my mind                    prima facie evidence                   suggested I was ripe                       there’s something wrong with my brain                        it’s a simple mind bender              from way back when                   did you see them?              did you see my pornographic hands?                did you get my text?                      do you finally understand?             this is the ministry of filth                 and you are in command

mister natural

 old acquaintances              can make for strange bed fellows               more like accomplices than lovers             but this is no next time round                  I’m no blast from the past                        I’ve been authenticated                        as 100% organic                        the totally genuine article             issued in nineteen timbuktu                    

I’m not packing remedies             in my duffel bag                        you can’t count on satisfaction        coz I’m just a minor distraction              and strictly pay for view             you got my name and number                        if you ever catch the blues           tho I might not come running               the way you want me to