Dance for maya, dance for dreams,
For faked orgasms and hyperreal screams.
Put your palms together for Alzheimer's;
The perfect poetry of Korsakovian slurs.
Dance for decapitations, for needles and spoons,
Chain-smoking grandfathers sat in painted-shut rooms.
Dance for diabetics with the stumps for feet,
The black sunset on a silent street.
Can you feel the wilt of a world atilt?
Your grandparents are teetering on their morphine stilts
And with a little good luck and every best hope
We might last long enough to see the sun explode.
Digging through the landfill on his hands and knees
For a plastic bottle for the new babies
And I'm sure she'll figure out something to please
The hungry men downstairs with the machetes.
Good little puritans born and raised
Making neat little puritans for tidy graves.
So place a ring-o-roses, we all fall down.
All our cuddles turn to huddles as the lights wink out.
Can you hear the wilt of a world atilt?
Your grandchildren are teetering on citalopram stilts
And with everything long snatched, snaffled or sold
You can't work out why the young never looked so old.
Dance for sternums
Flowering wide
Ballerinas
Slumped inside
Take a ticket
Single file
Cremulators
Cracking smiles
Bang the table
Stamp your feet
Scream for seconds
Bawl and weep
Elbows flailing
Squealing teeth
A Pizza Hut, a Pizza Hut,
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut!
McDonald's!
Pack your mouth shut!
Hitch your skirts and start running
'Cos it's already coming
And we're long past fucked.
“When the fridge stops humming and my medicine crusts
We'll still have the Big Society, in God I trust.
And when all the ambulance tyres run flat
I'll still have my Nectar card and my phone contract.”
supported by 4 fans who also own “Your Grandchildren Are Already Fucked (The Silence of Animals)”
Worth the price of admission for Impossible Soul alone. What a great journey of a song that is. If I'm feeling really stressed out, I like to turn it on and just listen - usually once I'm at the end I feel a lot better. rar
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