Alchemisland

Rope’s end, frayed

Near to the wick

Madhead from Ringsend going mad

All chat, no broken bones with stones and sticks

Not afraid of these pricks, tell ‘em stick it

Mr Wickedness getting dicklicked in a slick whip

Down bad, still standing pat

Anyone comes around I’ve got the bat

I’ve that isn’t that we pull down the bally

In Ballyogan, in the alley, or in the open

Open your throat, bury you below the oaks

Flow outta heaven’s south, journal had smoke coming out

Bolder when I’m stoned

Boulder where I’m interned

Prayer intoning, no love withholding, burning my bones

Black-clad sisters stoop to scoop up the pale ashes, chuck them in a back passage

Rained out, what you did was bad out is all I’m saying

Head in my hands, chains dangling, chain smoking fags

Staying in the flat until I make something happen

Late of a Sunday, grave quiet, seems the whole country and their mums are inside

I’m outside a row of pubs, sizing them up, yup ouvit I’m getting messy sessioning