Up here again in my crib on Cinder Hill,
checking out the miaow miaow scene,
cars drift in and out the smog,
leave shadows where they've never really been,
my nose is bleeding and my throat burns,
when I come down from this there's gonna be one unholy war,
my verbal torpedoes are on homing lines,
stripped literally to the fucking core,
you will now be forced to overdose,
and then overdosed some fucking more,
you were seen stalking starlings in the killing bushes,
and sharpening your claws on the skeletons of mice,
and as an ex mass-murderer who gets flashback rushes,
I found your hip-action cool as fucking ice,
this one is definitely gonna leave me in a hole,
strangling the life out of your suffocating depression,
questioning the actions of my soul,
screaming dementia unmentioned,
like the kid with a party to go to in the house of detention,
singing at the bus stop loud and in the rain,
miaow miaow people looking at me,
the verbal burners are on the overdrive again,
beep beep people searching for me,
as the curtain falls on shiny shiny pain,
like the bullet in the heaving snorting head,
of the favourite horse that came in lame,
and all the fluffy fluffy people nudge,
and the whispered word is it's a shame,
as I follow you with a knife in my pocket,
dancing one last tango down the country lanes,
barking like a fucking lunatic,
as the last of the psychoactive effect quickly drains,
leaving me white-eyed and screaming,
over the fucking edge and still fucking leaning,
where the division between life and death,
suddenly ceases to have any reasonable meaning,
and the force of the imminent panic attack,
leaves you shocked gasping and wheezing,
these burners blaze in roaring shimmering heat,
from batteries on full atomic charge,
as you play butchers with blades and meat,
in the charnel house of your own backyard,
as I absently schoolday reminisce,
just because you wore those fucking calipers,
the dumb dumb people thought you weren't hard,
working on your mesmerising disability,
and the ability to switch the dealers cards,
all that frustration became a liability,
in cool cool moments when they dropped their guard,
like the fakir entranced in disbelief,
like the red man who saw the first gunshot,
and the fall of the first murdered chief,
and the death of all hopes of reason,
and the terrible-twos stamp petulant feet,
as fires burn in the whispers of treason,
and flames lick the cheeks of the meek,
the miaow miaow people are at it again,
burning their circuits with cut cut cocaine,
here comes the unbroken line of dutiful men,
representing the grim face of modern democracy,
prepared to enforce what comes out of the mouths of babes,
innured to the shames of corporate hypocracy,
willing to gratefully accept capitalist mediocrity,
in an existence of below average quality,
and time is running out for the apes,
they may never get their chance to talk,
and if they did the listeners would be in the minority,
which would be a crying shame,
this situation is serious it's not a holiday,
but to the miaow miaow people,
it's all the fucking same.