My house has a roofless part, air of classic splendour
Egypt and old Greece meld in the blender
Garden of statues, sentinels, two of Talos as coastal defense
I’ve got a direct line to Porton Down, they’ll tip me off when it’s going down
Three words: go underground, now
Split the belly of the holy sow, Mithraic wound
All drowning under a blood moon, betrayal’s sound
A tuneless harpsichord played by a clown.
Ask me about a brontannas, just roll another blunt for us
Legs long as a tall brontosaurus, got bronchitis from getting high
Money lost the lot at Punchestown on a bad tip, pawning drip
To repair light fixtures, for now subsisting, existing in the dark
A fist-sized hole in the bedroom wall, a piss-like stain in the hall always
Rent this month is gonna be a ballache
Checking my watch like halfway through track 8 on a bad tape
Got a four track, can’t lack bananas for the monkey on my back
Singing like I’d banked on it, hanging on the high notes
I’m languishing in the violence.
Leave a comment