Alchemisland

You’re taking liberties with me, a known libertine and acid critic

I’m injecting more horse than an Arabic racetrack medic, black liquid

High as often as the now moon-faced Pete Doherty, few quid back

On the bottle return, some coins left in my pocket for tonight’s felicities

Don’t fuck with me, I’m from the Liberties you see

It’s the real Dublin City, and it’s my hitting limits season

Hungry to score, ravaged core the scorning disease, the reaving gear

Becomes my reason to be seen at all, no scene at all to speak of

That I might be Queen over, I’m between younger and older

Halfway between schoolbag full of folders and Folens copybooks

And shouldering the world’s weight, further up death’s waiting line.

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You are what you inject, you are who you pal around with

Childhood rejection removed instincts toward self protection

But I’ll do anything for attention, to hear my name mentioned

Penchant for going on adventures, stealth camping in garden centres

I’m trying to recentre myself after robbing a Centra on D’olier street

I drink beers like I’m saying D’oh and choking Bart for being bold

Half my life I feel like I’ve been on hold, don’t know why I’m violence prone

Something in me eager to show how far I’ll go, it’s about surviving

I’ll writhe my way out of tight toe holds

It was like fighting Josh Barnett in Tokyo

Never no show when it comes to boxing bouts, in my corner bouncing around

I’m planning a bad smashing, hitting a heavy bag I used to keep the stash in

I smash pads with combos until the already-cracking leather gets wet

With blood, red as lettermedia, look up sutures on wikipedia

I’m badly bleeding, cleaved forehead dripping Clifford-coloured beads

Dreaming eyes on me, body shape biblically accurate angel

I’m dreaming of prizes, titles and PPV

I was thinking of growing a moustache, give the audience something to latch

Onto, I’m going to trade in the hatchback for a monster truck with nitrous attachments

Amiibo of James Dean wobbling on the dash, passing joints into the back

Passing other road users like I was playing Crash Bash in a friend’s pad

In the year 2000, we thought flights would crash, toaster plugs would unattach

Themselves, leave their dwelling places to join the Y2K attacks, we didn’t know

About false flags or backpacks full of bombs on airplanes, naive and blameless

Looking back that era seems wanton and shameless, in the shade

Of trees that hid the pain, the chains, the rage behind the triumphal parade

World remade, nothing codified in law ever goes away

No such thing as a temporary measure, terrifying numbers of sexual predators

Judge sends them under for half a summer, you have to wonder

Are the job lot kid bummers, making up numbers in the government offices

More choice than a corner shop a rich guy stops at, they want more orifices

They want more porous laws, they want to get their grubby paws all

Over undropped balls, suddenly everyone can’t recall what they thought

Was going in with their popular boss, when he brought

Schoolkids into his office during operating hours, door was locked

Already shocking conduct but no one had the stones to knock

Drop them into a lockbox and let foxhunters fire on them with shotguns

It’s collar seizing, shoving up to a wall, don’t need a reason anymore

Taking liberties again, this time it’s liberty caps I welcome the venom

Hallucinogenic scenic route, my overclocked mind usually slowbooting

Moving smoothly, fastly, like a cruiser missile, I’m a deadly weapon

Breathlessly shooting at my enemies, the walls are chest high

And bullets are flying and I’m mad to die, soul half skyward

And so I rise, I surprise them by riding out from the redoubt

Where they couldn’t get me, I was vexed by challenge’s lack

So I changed tac now I’m flanking, coming up behind their backs

Like a mammy catching a teenager wanking into a serviette

I’ve got game, got games I’m a server vet

I’m bringing my serval to the vet for service, ring the bell summon servers

I sever small talk with boss shit, I wield magic Daniel Radcliffe

You’re in the bot lobby, a servile river-wet rat

My only bad break is when I got my arm taken

Guy was half Brazilian, he looked ancient

I thought I had him, brows painted with painful blue bruises

He threw himself at me, I was already flat out

Tight against me he fought for underhooks, dirty boxing Jack Dempsey

Soon my face was messed up too, a goulash of gashes and abrasions

Fighting style Asian, legs raising just barely grazing, steep ascent

Sent him, sentenced to the boot like Bart down under, head to ass

He managed to trap me in deep half, easy guard pass

On the ground getting pounded, no clowning

Had time to reflect on the mistakes which led me here

Once I get clear of this guy, no fear of the rear naked

I’m going to take some time away and do grappling training

I’ve always been crap at the close-in scrap, not built for that

I’m made for dashing, fast sleeps, quick lashing out, then backstepping

I’m light and fleet and my lightning feet like Achilles through Ilium’s streets

Means nothing when I’m stuck in deep half, unable to get up off my ass

He’s lucky I don’t have a Bucky bottle otherwise I’d be unstuck

And he’d be removing glass from where you put a mask.