Cycled my cycle
In the continuum of space
Walked the line
With one boot and a lace
Swam five oceans
Sailed the seven seas
Never found someone who believed in me
I danced,and played golf upon the moon
Had *** with Munro and came to soon
I turned myself inside out
So I could set myself free
It's getting harder to believe in me.
I played football 1,001 leagues under the sea
Sat with Jesus, Adolph ****** we had a *** of tea
I surfed seven planets and thee astral plain
Danced naked with Madonna in a shower of pink rain
I do not know when I shall be ever  be free
Because It's only me and my straight jacket
who really believes in me.

Wishing well stood proudly
In the middle of village square
Throw in all your pennies
Ask a question if you dare.
So I asked for one ***** **** *****
Long blonde hair and super mega rich
when I awoke next morning
With my wife still by my side
That clever all knowing wishing well
Knew that I had lied

I love me ,i love me
Let's love me together
Let's waltz  have some ***
inside all clement weather.
Mirror mirror on the wall
thank you for excepting my lips
Sweet little narcacistic me
Unable to love other ships

News news the bbc
its cheap free publicity.
Giving terrorism easy air time
It's stupidity,it's a ****** crime
News news the bbc
Giving terrorist free publicity

children playing in the park
Drone of swarming bees
suddenly life went dark
Time stood still,it froze
bursts of high pitch screams
filled the air with fear and dread
all around me,parents and children
We're laying fu--ing dead.
frozen with gut wrenching horror
I could hear people having rants
Stuck for what seems an eternity
I knew I had just **** my pants
Sirens wailing smoked filled thee air
Blood splattered red,dripping everywhere
then I woke,hearing a terrible sound
Holding a a bottle of ketchup,One red one brown

A punishment was handed out today
For the crime of slander I have to say
My pen had kicked up an awful stink
So the judges sentenced Me to life without ink
My pen had written,stories wildly untrue
sold to the newspapers who hadn't a clue
My poor old pen retired,no more stories to tell
A typewriter wouldn't be profitable from a prison cell

When young children die
There shadows still play
It might not be true
I would like it that way.
Dancing,smiling
Under the Suns ray
carrying their  names
In a fine eternity play.
shadows still do exist
In the darkness of a blink
It might not be true
It's still lovely to think