Alchemisland

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Unsuspiciously asking how to grow big crops fast

How you get cops around fast

Car chase, always five stars

To the max always, like Zack Morris

Living cosy like a Hobbit, free from bondage

All my placemats got William Morris designs

I make four from everything, even five, William Blake’s eyes

Burnt at the stake, burnt away spread my ashes on the grain

If they ask you why I went insane tell them I was born with bad brains

Like a baby showing a punk inclination from early days, proper headcase

According to tests they did today, I broke their scale for measuring mad from sane

I had the whole estate raging, two hundred cases awaiting trial, ran like blazes

Into the night, Blazes Boylan style I go with someone else’s wife a while

Blazing hot tonight, place is boiling, kick away the sheets, turn toss this way that

Earnt lots from my last crop, learnt lesson now avoid cops, plot everything

Burn my jotters, wear simple joggers and not all the bling, 999 ring ring

Is this the IRS? Pray, show us receipts and proof of earnings

Source of wealth I think they must have smelled what I dealt

Delve deeper than a Smelter Demon or Balrog sleeping into my dealings

Peeling back the paymaster’s pages of my balance book, usually kept in a cage

Like an ancient relic from our yesterday, an item of praise that must be saved

If I am to be saved, I could have called it a day ages ago but I’m a slave 

To the rave-backed mayhem, no one could save them I say as I slay them

Started listening to Slade then Sabbath, slope slippery, slipped down to Sheol

Before long I was praising satan, a hidden cult I operated in primary school

I was the jewel of an evil eye, taking pride in how easily they believed my lie

Half of true evil is how much the deception is enjoyed

How it is employed, and how greatly it contrasts with the false image I’ve buoyed

Since boyhood, everything here is a toy I play with, avoiding certain selves

Confining them to less-seen sells, whatever sells me I become, fun

If I need to seem it, stern and icy, my heart is not a church to Athena

I am mercurial and Saturnine, I look askance, dim fate, with Saturn eye

I strike with ringed hand the lantern, ceasing light, seizing tight

Your shivering shoulders I delight my blade, all I am forbade to say

I whisper to your unhearing ear, uselessly pushing back your guts

I don’t know whether I am creating or avoiding trouble

By sending you to the void, I avoid further consideration

I avert your eyes with my hand’s slick palm, gloved by your balm

The lamb the lamb the sacral lamb dies, the delicate band snaps

Life’s bandit collapsing with the weight of my loot sack

I carve thankful runes along my tomb’s inner bowl 

Attuned in Jutland, characters for the future can unscrew

I compose saccharine odes to you, my beauty, on a dwarf-strung lute

Cupid’s arrows shooting towards, thwarting your crueller truth

Which does me undo at speaking, roots cut to the quick 

Routes to the sickly centre, the citadel of my nervous central