Alchemisland

Fourscore, twenty past four

A haze of dancing spores

Where the sun shines glorious

Grounds on which I left spurious

The office is too tedious 

For a day this radiant 

Shirts and tshirt days here rare 

Few and far between, I was furious 

Wasting time for a traitor’s dime 

Money, that whore do not that court

Stub out my fag at the Luas forecourt

Ding my Leap card, alight at Harcourt

Evening red, faces red outside the Bleeding Horse 

Slacks rolled up into shorts 

Short-sleeved shirts 

Scores of pint sippers, no supper 

Out from the office during summer 

Hardcore Harcourt, it’s not Luas lines they snort 

I take one sip and whatever mission I have I abort 

My comportment slides

What orders me moves by

I’m soon drunken and disorderly 

Like a patient fighting white scrub orderlies 

Someone from Cabra didn’t finish their cheesy 

Fries from Abra Kebabra, we call it Abra Kestabra 

Good price, just the right amount of spicy

You’ll literally die if you try it 

At the arch in Temple Bar between central bank and the restaurant barge a junkie rifles through stolen cards, bemoans the death of cash, takes three blues from a blister pack 

His back against the dirty bricks

He sweats below a golden disc

He hangs around the obelisk 

Where butterface odalisques

Suck a Donabate lad’s prick 

For the price of a fix

His veins where he sticks it are the styx

Red as a vixen, he needs his elixir

Price of a nickser but needs it quicker

Mickser said he’s selling to the first bidder

Hard up for a few quid, unafraid of prison

With dirty needles he threatens to prick tourists 

He’s needful for the purest, the poppymilk he’s gurning shrouds him like Turin 

Warms him like urine

Only thing that cures him 

Struggling against fate 

Turin son of Hurin, cursed to rake 

The city sands in a baggy Nike tracky 

A brown filled baggy in your jacksie 

Shoot it up down the lane 

Beside Barney’s arcade games 

Only King here is Burger 

Only thing here since is sin

No sense in it going to waste

He sticks his mate’s syringe in 

They stack black pills in dank back lanes near the Sackville