Goodbye cruel world
take away my soul.
I wanna go home
this sunny day,
a rock and roll refugee.
The silent reproach
your favourite disguise.
Put through the shredder
in perfect isolation.
Swollen hand blues,
fat and psychopathic.
No drugs to calm me.
Tight as a tourniquet,
a warm thrill of confusion
coming through in waves.
Itchy feet and fading smiles
put me in the firing line.
Toys in the attic
fill the empty spaces -
a snapshot in a surrogate band.
Is there anybody out there,
in this brave new world?
No dark sarcasm hid behind
some mad bugger's wall?
Time to go.
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 4:16 PM UTC
Goodbye cruel world
take away my soul.
I wanna go home
this sunny day,
a rock and roll refugee.
The silent reproach
your favourite disguise.
Put through the shredder
in perfect isolation.
Swollen hand blues,
fat and psychopathic.
No drugs to calm me.
Tight as a tourniquet,
a warm thrill of confusion
coming through in waves.
Itchy feet and fading smiles
put me in the firing line.
Toys in the attic
fill the empty spaces -
a snapshot in a surrogate band.
Is there anybody out there,
in this brave new world?
No dark sarcasm hid behind
some mad bugger's wall?
Time to go.
A poem made from a lyric from every song on Pink Floyd's The Wall.
Hope Roger doesn't mind...