when clouds of revolution gather
And anarchy starts to reign
When blood run free upon our streets
And there is no one left to blame
When the writings on the wall
But we are all to dumb to read
When it dog eat dog and our world is fuelled by greed
Who do we turn to then my friend
Who do we turn to then

When the ozone’s long since gone
And pollution fills your lungs
When you want to sing a new song but every song you sings been sung
When you want to make an impression but every voice you hear is your own
When you want to call for help but all you receive is the engaged tone
Who do we turn to then my friend who do we turn to then.

When there’s nothing left to have so there’s nothing that you want
When the pain is so intense they are sprinkling morphine in the font
When there are cobwebs on the gate
And there is no one on reception
When there is no second coming,no resurrection no immaculate conception.
Who do we turn to then my friend who do we turn to then.

When you can’t rest on your laurels
because there is nowhere left to sit
When your the soul survivor and there is no room left in the crypt.
When you have bitten the hand that feeds you
And there is nothing on the table
When the final straw been take to leave an empty stable
Who do we turn to then my friend who do we turn to then

When people meet to be deployed to loot and pillage seek and destroy
When we are reduced back to the crust
When there is nothing left but rubble and dust.
When every day it’s **** or bust because there is no one left to trust
Who do we turn to then my friend who do we turn to then.

IMPRINTS ON OUR  FAVOURITE CHAIRS
CONTENT TO SIMPLY SIT AND STARE
THROUGH WINDOWS WHICH REFLECT EACH DAY
ON  HOW WE WORK AND HOW WE PLAY
WITH BRICKS TO TELL OF LIFE INSIDE
OF TIMES WE’VE LAUGHED AND TIMES WE’VE CRIED
OLD FLOORBOARDS SPEAK IN SQUEAKY TONES
THEY’RE ETCHED IN OUR HEARTS DEEP IN OUR  BONES
OUR BLOOD RUNS THROUGH THESE CREAKY  PIPES  
OUR THOUGHTS AND ACTIONS, THROUGH THE LIGHTS
ITS WHO WE ARE , ITS IN OUR SOUL
        IT’S ME, IT’S YOU, IT’S US....
                      IT’S HOME.

Crawling spiders by my bed
Will crawl upon me when I’m dead
Along my face and in my eyes
They will spin their webs to catch their flies
I pray to god I shall not wake
For better dead than spiders plate.

All my dreams fulfilled
My features are their traits
All I ever wished
Their hearts and mine encased
What I am they are
Fingers down to toes
Remaining when I’m gone
My soul,my flesh....my bone.

Draw, inhale
Drawn and pale
stained incisors
Like rusty pliers grip the ****
On route to lung
A tarmac stream
A wheezing flow of nicotine
Clogs and stains
As do ***** drains
To wall and build into a prison
A bulging vessel an embolism
On tar it feeds
To swell, to bleed
An internal growth of great proportion
A Red Sea splash to form an ocean
Consumed, devoured
By treacle *****
A  rosewood finish
With brass handles on it
The kids remember
They can’t forget
How you so enjoyed
Your cigarettes.