Break-up

The curtains slow fall apart to reveal puppets staring at us dress in glittery clothes; hungry to strike a vogue pose to fast flash of fabricated news.
Here it goes.
Folk lyrics wasted for deaf ears
Everyone like to be the clowns of the circus of Britten Spears learning the craft to ignore a please
Performing rhymes full of begging pleads you keep singing or I bleed.
To listen is an art, a double twenty check out in a game of darts
B-side of a digital epoch the words are there to shock
Written in squatters rooms of neglect concrete tower blocks which with pride we named house
My best friend is a stoned kitchen mouse.
An exposed line of defence to bare my verbs is not more criminal offense more a sort of street confidence.
She show bimbo obedience to the light of the bling let me listen your lip-sing.
Tweets, videos and blog decadence
The World Wide Web esteems your naked lap-dance.
Love
You want a bloke too someone with honey and dear bijous
Quiet happy he will pay happy too for every untimely hearth stroke
Not me I am broke
Holiday in French niche she is drinking rose’ champagne
She is dressing in bikinis too small to be itch
Jet setting from lips to lips
Another glossy cover of you is another arsehole to be kiss.
Now here we are, both of us sit at the same bar.
Too far to remember when you look at me as a pretender
You tell me of new dreams and I mute my ironic screams
I know I am mean.
I do not regret to say the fame now has for you fade away
Your hands now are missing their feline touch
Now you are a woman too much.
A new princess has me now deep in her core and I adore when at night her soul in my arms take cover
Sorry baby; me and you
Over!