Alchemisland

Stomach rumbling like Bobby Sands daydreaming of apple crumble

As he paints the gaol wall with the shit rubbed into his hands

H Block the iron cunted mocker wanted to prove she couldn’t be rocked

Let a hero die in a tiny box, a mockery of the political process

One wrong move boom, she’d have been like processed prunes

Or a stomped on piece of tuna.