It’s so hard to be one of those people who’s late all the time If there was capital punishment for poor punctuality Then death would surely fit my crime.
I gots monsters on my fingers When I type, their dead skin lingers When I shove a spike, down through my chin When I suck hard An’ inhale high within When I look up to the sky
Join in with the game Grab a shopping bag Shell out a few quid Wear a branded name Waste a few hours Amble around in the crowd Feel your eyes dry out in the unnatural lights
Romance sweeping up the day Venison flesh cut Claret drips from finger tips Naked bones seduced By poems fresh Written first In the heart beats of fear. Red wine is drunk by bottle