My mother worked on an airfield At the end of world-war two He watched the plane land in flame Out of the bright, bright blue
I that good enough for you? Hat more can I do? Fly the plane that crashed Burn to death at last?
The history of the war I written in memories That melt like bread and dripping In the houses of the poor
I’m wondering about you And I don’t know what to There’ something sad about you And there’s nothing I can do
Handle bars and handle holds They put them everywhere But I cannot find a handle hold on you
You’ve been born a long time Please come from behind ? But with a hook inside your egg How can you escape from What’s inside your head
You ran as fast as lightning Like a bullet from a gun And landed in the system Without?
Your peeling skin is crying Wanting to tell the truth I think your heart is peeling You’ve gone back to the doll’s house?
It’s only by remote control That I found the strength It’s only by coincidence I got on your wavelength
It’s like to see a flower die Please tell me why, tell me why?
You’ve got to respond You’ve got to respond Don’t hide in your self-pity And respond It’s the common strength of lovers To respond
People, food Who can trust them? Packaged in cardboard
People in cheap packaging Everywhere Food that has no soul
In cardboard boxes People and food Manufactured mouthfuls
People are fish fingers In boxes Dusted with bread crumbs
There’s a great factory On the earth Manufacturing people
Bland white fish fingers Mass production Society is a factory
I am exhausted I am cut out from a fish A precise white coffin
I am exhausted I am dead I am a fish finger
Little button eyes Pulled out Little fish mouth Removed
No tail, no fins No nothing
I am exhausted I am a white fish finger In a freezer
It is the church Of the middle class
With car tyres Hung on the walls
The stained glass windows Depict colourful advertisements
The priest Delivers rich home cooking
In their minds They want to serve
A country That isn’t good enough
Where is God they say He is editing a newspaper
They’re given free polish For their souls
Apply this To your appendix
Death Is a life insurance contract
Life is A renewable trauma
Sometimes I am in motion Like a rock Rolling down a mountain
The crash produces stars
My soul As thin as cellophane Comes close To being recycled
I pick the shark teeth Out of my ghost
I’m a rolling slag heap Of tears and rocks
I am asleep in a storm With a heart under six feet of snow
Lockdown Is a new photo Of humankind
An anatomy For a student coroner
The living Go dancing In the abandoned house Like sprats
In a lockdown Photograph album You know nobody There are no faces
True distances Appear as a pathway For sleepwalkers
The common place Is moving into A new darkness
I have been wrong Wrong with prophesy Wrong ith words
Rip me open And stuff me full of lightning
I have been wrong Wrong on the phone Wrong on the recording
Burn my body Disinfect my soul
I have been wrong Truth tells me so I am wrong to be me There is no room at the inn For happiness
The world moves in a circle On broken teeth
Who is alive? Who is dead?
Who’s shop is empty Who’s bed has not been slept in?
There are advantages to take Shoes to fill
Sweep away the tears Of your neighbours
And walk on the shoulders Of ghosts
I got my garage hook But I do not have a garage
There is a girl I love But I do not have a marriage
You make me hard You make me cold You make me hard You make me bold
And I’ll never be the person I once was
I had a friend In a music box
With the sunken eyes Of an Italian criminal In a silent movie
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