Hallmarks Of A Hypocrite
Fire straight and true,
Onward thinking,
Right over wrong right over wrong
Just as we're told
And just as you listen,
Not me,
Your standards,
Ignorant ideals,
You judge with one hand and
Smoke liberty with the other,
The same hand that holds me under,
Compassion remains hidden, unexplained
While the countless numbers divide subtract destroy,
War child,
You bled all for the best, not this charade,
Easily led by racist reasoning, heroic extinction,
Suicide is murder, murder is entertainment,
These are the hallmarks of a fucking hypocrite,
Back down the civilised spine crawls another
Shiver triggered by a feel good crime,
Digest their chemical depression,
When the truth peels its skin you
See a rotting skull within and
Panic and panic and panic and panic and panic and panic,
Dear God it's you.
Monday, 15 December 2008
Friday, 12 December 2008
No. 8
Wife Accidenty Sews Her Head To The Curtains
She was ten feet tall if you squinted, the prophet hinted. Parlour tricks for the heretics my deformed reformed halo harlot, we could be minted. For that matter of factual nonsensical banter, we could be anything felt dealt squeezed in to a leather belt. Opposite to the tales told around your campfire, I am human, whole, hard, charizard and the Mandy man of the house to this whale carcass. Painted blue baboon bollocks brazen mistaken log drops for chocolate raisins. As written in chronicles of those a-sexual bi-polar bastards beneath the headlines dashed crooked, scat is the new black. Ego misguided in to technical truths and delusions of fact, it fills my heart and cheeks with nutty normality. Write your answers on a postcard. Bleed this sanitation and drop the suit for law he's only a whore, he knows nothing outside the sexplination we fired between the blanks. This is the year to contemplate who this self is, where it's headed and how much you're willing to screw the unsuspecting public before the scream for more. I'm so far up inside I'm eating breakfast twice.
She was ten feet tall if you squinted, the prophet hinted. Parlour tricks for the heretics my deformed reformed halo harlot, we could be minted. For that matter of factual nonsensical banter, we could be anything felt dealt squeezed in to a leather belt. Opposite to the tales told around your campfire, I am human, whole, hard, charizard and the Mandy man of the house to this whale carcass. Painted blue baboon bollocks brazen mistaken log drops for chocolate raisins. As written in chronicles of those a-sexual bi-polar bastards beneath the headlines dashed crooked, scat is the new black. Ego misguided in to technical truths and delusions of fact, it fills my heart and cheeks with nutty normality. Write your answers on a postcard. Bleed this sanitation and drop the suit for law he's only a whore, he knows nothing outside the sexplination we fired between the blanks. This is the year to contemplate who this self is, where it's headed and how much you're willing to screw the unsuspecting public before the scream for more. I'm so far up inside I'm eating breakfast twice.
Thursday, 4 December 2008
No. 7
The Fire Is Dead
We're watching a corpse,
Standard applause,
Creative menopause,
This is a future for the failures,
The fakes, the easily led,
IQ insults you,
Con men, they win every time,
If you stopped to think
The flames would engulf us all,
A welcome cull
Unlike this rot prolonged and dull,
Passion is for burning,
My respect is for earning,
So fuck the false
We're watching a corpse,
Standard applause,
Creative menopause,
This is a future for the failures,
The fakes, the easily led,
IQ insults you,
Con men, they win every time,
If you stopped to think
The flames would engulf us all,
A welcome cull
Unlike this rot prolonged and dull,
Passion is for burning,
My respect is for earning,
So fuck the false
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