Alchemisland

In the club they’re playing the classics

Spinning wax pinging out blasters

Bangers bangers, hands to rafters

Sweating now, bliss forever comedown after

Chatting shit over cans at an afters

Wafting away acrid smells with my hands

Telling some girl about my favourite bands

Victorian times, that hard to make an advance

Crabs have more chance at getting in pants

At a gaff either with the cat or kitchen plants

I’m in skinny black pants, teen’s fantasy minus chequered vans

The romance and the wedding are chemical

My spells unsettled Crowley, said OK Michael

You’re ready for the next step, first a trial

Drink the Nile’s volume in alcohol

On the way home unsteady, fall of man

Garda van howling out of Store Street station

Vomit on the street then apologise to someone vacationing

Records need setting, and some need setting straight

Once I get a ping of your location, setting out, going straight there

Pull up outside, pull down the window, you’re in Winters beer garden, scared

Fake news, dues paid, dupe payment happy days, broken ATM notesprays

Town smells so bad in summertime, aristocrats wearing nosegays

My addicted cats, those guys, black caps on in cramped flats

Stuffing cigarettes into empty beer cans

Fuck a bitch on nitrous, like I stuck into a hyena

Spraying is nothing sacred on a rock on the bay

Found ten needles, haven’t yet checked the hay

Head spinning, oscillating, Linda Blair possessed by satan

Sense is on vacation, pleasant but dense, dim and numb to sensation

No sensei my ninja skill called sensational by Shaolin Monks in the hills

Wanted to stay with them longer but they caught me taking pills

And hoarding wonga, too much desire for material thrills my illness

What can live in my head rent free when I’m out here ag spraoí

Out of my head stumbling down the street, grand for me comes free

Pale abstainer meditating to Satan in a Medici-paid temple, medically

And figuratively off my rocker, clash in me like mods and rockers

Visiting Brighton Rock licking a stick of hard rock candy, antsy

To get my hands on grams regardless of debt, wickeder than west witch

Rebel sleeping in a ditch in west wicklow willing the Empire fall low

Swivelling padlock wheels, apartment of John Dee, enter 007 

Click, endorsing the entrance, atmosphere within malevolent

Couldn’t have been angels based on what they said

Said they were ancient but they were born dead

In thrall of the red lord, drugs hitting harder than old bread

Stabbed a guy, blood sprayed like garlic from a squeezed chicken kiev

Down two glasses of water, wait for the headache to pass, wrigley for the jaw

Pleasure and pain gained equally that’s fair maths, Job of the flats, in laws

Probably asking what she saw and sees to end up wedded to me

Seen what I saw, fuck what you believe

Pulling up weeds by the roots, pulling up routes by weed

Leaf by niggle, leaf until I giggle, leaf until I dribble

I am by demons driven, hellforged arrows in my quiver

Seeing myself in the third person perspective

I don’t know if you could call this astral projection

Grave mistake that fake list of greats where my name wasn’t mentioned

Taking shots of cobra drool to immunise myself to snake venom

So many snakes looking at you, St Patrick craving that attention

Ophidian exodus, round them all up on the 46A bus

Say to the driver bring us to the bay, he nods, trusting

I know the way, I am dressed in that papal way

Robes swaying leukós shade eggshell angel

Point a way and see how many beeline

More honey than an overtime beehive

Three beamers in my drive

People wondering whether they film Top Gear here

Cockroach how I will survive, junkyard cat type guy

Rasputin fire, shooting and brute force won’t do it

Consign me to the fluid, the cold death induced

Nothing men do can reboot me

God and man, who can reproof me

Who could prove to me that they are near my equal

My ego quantity is a lot, cash in the tin of Quality Street

Billion dollar box office, promising me a sequel

Found the priest in the car park, impaled by the steeple

The son of evil has been born, before us see his people

Noah’s days returning, non-stop rain lashing, a ship fashioned

An impassioned speech, honest pleas, falling on deaf ears

Smashing visceral urns for ritual matter

My homunculus sons behind glass, croissant shaped with curved backs

Waxing the grubby tank glass, all named Adam, family photos like LV426

Well I’ll be it’s 420 why not roll a 6 skinner

Frank, Mike and four others over for dinner

Crew found dead at the lab in Alaska, bodies infested by snowy crabs

Expressions of terror etched upon their cemented visages, those who still had heads

Inventory and nothing missing, none seemed capable but anything’s possible, dead

Of winter out here is principally darkness and the simply harmness become armed

Hearts out here do not thaw but grow armour, the awry grow more malformed

It’s for a certain sort, certainly not for just anyone, six months of flaying storms

A clean white slate, a lake you could skate across if you weren’t so full of hate

Debate over who painted the skating minister

Fainting after a single say say off my sinister minister

Painting squares on a cheeseboard to prove I’m a chesslord

My bishops feared exhorders, meaner than Barchester Towers

My knights moving two forward and left, your Queen is absented

I cast the sentence so I swing my blade, such is my father’s way

Milk white blade, riding away on a milk white bay, delaying

What’s inevitable like slowgoing toward the gallows

Witches toasting like marshmallows on a scout trip, fire open

Roasting, meat-scented smoke arose, swept up dusted bones

Bornless ritual in a mould-ridden bando, what’s growing rots lungs

Hell on Earth, Earth as womb, Doom II shooter super shotgun 

Get close to a mammoth and fire my pilum, mammoth steaks I pile them

Any neanderthal who checks the style of them incites caveman violence

Famed hunter sending my thunder, chthonic holiday in the land down under

When it comes to shooting I never blunder, warrior and writer Edmund Blunden

Krakens in the tunnels of flooded London, trying to get a foot in

Dip my fingers into the chimney soot, dot on my chest every life I took