The soap opera
You sit and watch the small screen every day
There is no memory of you or me there
Not in Coronation Street, not in East Enders.
And you religiously watch them day by day but beware
There is no memory of your life in them
And when you die they will carry on, cruelly not remembering you
I watched you hopping over the grass
I watched you happing over the grass
Flapping your ominous jet-black wings
There is bleak loneliness, do you wait for the night
A godlessness, do you dislike yourself
As if your first ancestor passed on sin to you
And for all of your generations, you had to represent death
Unloved bird, tragic creature, the fearful shadow of a dream.
