Through sliding door the bulbs have failed
All wiring wrong
This life’s not mine
It doesn’t shine.
Electricity’s gone
No switches on
There is no song
The wine stays on the vine.
A need to flee
And to be free
But escape itself a jail.
Roads are closed
And sign post’s down
The flood has risen
And hope has drowned.
The damaged goods at the factory
No buyers for the failed
Are stored out back behind the shed
Silently waiting for someone
From some charity to come
And make them into bedding for the poor.
But charity’s feet should lead to my door
So the bedding is for me.
I have sucked form the nipple of the devil
That milk’s an endless well
The more is sucked the more the need
His breast becomes a pregnant swell.
So nothing’s changed
And the bedding’s still for me.
No comments:
Post a Comment