I'm a narcissist,
I worship pointlessness
I pray to the god with nothing better
to do than indulge my fantasies
I trust in my own failings
to make my life interesting
and expose me to nothing more
than oblivion when I'm gone.
I owe loyalty to no flag or Supermarket chain,
Figurehead, state or Rock star,
But to myself I dedicate my life,
To my own expansion and growth and protection,
I will protect my life with my life,
a circle of human existence.
When I sleep the sleep of the dead,
and my life has gone from this world,
I shall be content, in the knowledge,
that someone out there, still wants me,
when I'm gone.
It gives me cause to wonder
This dream I can't forget
The fear this ship may flounder
The chance I might get wet
Pity doesn't exorcise
the demon within
It feeds and empowers
This sanctimonous killer
In me
Who Gimp Masks the child who would otherwise bring me home
to pastures of green
Take my wife please, take my knife please
I don't need them anymore
For the desire for retribution
takes priority over will
On a whim I'm please
On a whim, diseased
On a whim brought to my knees
Tomorrow will he take me?
Tomorrow might he break me?
The creature I call whim.
Yesterday he broke my nerve,
Today he broke my skin.
Today I'm thinking
About the voice that calls
from the words that I'm reading
Meaning nothing at all
To the many of the masses
Spread out along the wall
Waiting for the sunrise
and the officer to call
Today I'm reading
about the desire for change
from the people who changed
the words that I'm reading
Meaning nothing at all
To the minds of the masses
And me in my cell
Waiting for the officer
who tells me nothing at all
Today I am waiting
for the coming change
For the man at the door
To tell me my words
mean nothing at all
And the message for the masses
And the madness of war
Meaning nothing to no-one
And everything to all
Today I am writing
about the madness to fall
and reflecting on the changes
and my message not told
But the pages
they change
and the words
rearrange
to make my message
mean nothing at all
Can you tie my arms
for they will flail
When I see the truth
behind this fairy tale
When I know the end
When I see the culture stripped bare
Too much truth
Too much lies
To much for these saturated eyes
Reverse the tale please
let me revise
Let me realise
Let me see the pictures, please
The pretty pictures, painted in colors pleasing to my eye
But give me no facts, ma'am
not the facts
Especially not the photographs, ma'am
Gimme the leaves, and the pretty trees and
the horses golden and fair maids, please
But none of the gore and the moral score
I don't wanna know that stuff
Not any more.
Radio...
Listen to me,
for my heart is with thee
Radio...
Play my songs
For my soul does long
For the songs of yore
that told us stories
Of right and wrong
And lovers tied
in eternal embrace
the graceful songs
of the human race
But I can take no
love or pride
or seek no refuge
from the tide
in this tirade
of pointless trance
that never reaches
above the pants
The prancing buffoons
On top of the pops
Don't give me no pleasure
I'm hoping it stops
And some day soon
we will hear once more
the soulful songs
of bands like The Cure...
My arse is huge and fat,
like an disturbingly swolen cat,
who's abdominal infection,
is beyond retraction,
and that is the end of that...
My arse is mammothly vast,
like an ancient remembered past,
Full of great battles and wars,
and people keeping scores,
And the building of empires to last...
My arse is the size of a planet,
etc...
Here I am.
I'm lost again.
Silly Me.
What must you think?
I never seem to find my way.
'Silly you' you say.
'oh well, have some tea'.
Try again tomorrow, yes
'it happens', you say.
Then you see the blood,
and broken bones and,
'Silly you' you said,
'you always do such silly things'.
Same time the morrow?
Tea and sympathy.
Sympathy for silly me.
I'll break my bones,
and spill my blood.
Have some tea you'll say.
Make it ok.
Tea and sympathy.
Fixes everything.
Broken bones and minds.
Tea full of my blood,
and broken bones.
But there is no limit,
to the sympathy,
you seem willing to expend on me.
I'm tired.
Go to bed now,
aftertea and sympathy.
'Feel better now?'
'Yes' I say, tea and sympathy,
fixes everything.
'Thanks' I say.
It's always appreciated,
at some level, beyond,
the lake of blood,
and broken bones.
Anytime you need it.
Come to me,
for tea and sympathy.
to my horror home of broken bones,
upon the lake of blood.
Milk and lies,
with your tea and sympathy?
Or will you take it dry like me?
Mr Click-Clack followed me home last night.
Follows me home every night.
Home to my abode where I lock the door,
to keep myself safe,
from Mr Click-Clack.
What does he want this Mr Click-Clack?
Why is it that he follows me?
Why does he always wait,
outside my door?
What is his raison detre?
What is he here for?
I block up my ears,
so I can't hear,
Mr Click-Clack.
His nefarious ways, his moral decay,
the whispered promise of what he may...
I don't want to hear the thoughts,
of Mr Click-Clack.
His sharpening of knives,
The rubbing of thighs,
Oh how I hate that man,
That Mr Click-Clack.
One day I'll let him in,
I feel my discipline is wearing thin,
I need to know what it is that drives him
One day I'll have to meet,
that Mr Click-Clack.
But for now I hide, beneath my bed,
Balled up rags, stuffed in my head,
To keep out the fear, of sounds I'll hear...
Sounds...
That are only made,
By Mr Click-Clack.