The king wears Doc Martins
For booting tardy servants
And the servants grovel meekly
Whilst planning dire retribution
Come the day, you old *******
Come the glorious day

The queen is in the bike shed
Letting down random tyres
Throwing stones through windows
To while away the hours
Oh! the trial of royal boredom
With a castle and pointed towers

The princess lives in the highest tower
And spits on passers by below
Sometimes she uses a catapult
To fire cats at nearby nobles
And the nobles mutter curses
Whilst bowing so very low

But now that it's Christmas time
And the royals anticipate gifts
But the royal tree hides nothing, you see
Because these things are never missed
And the sleigh did not stay
And Santa did not call

                                       By Phil Roberts

Doom laden
Light my way
With candle of blackest tallow
And flame of brightest white
I follow my nature
My gravitation
Without question

Godless and lawless
Out of the wild I came
Still wet and trembling
Hairless and bared to all
I lived off the fruit of the land
And open to the sky
As is the way of my kind

What did I know of fences?
Or of lines on a map
All I saw was plenty for all
I knew nothing of money
I knew only being fed and being hungry
So they called me thief
They called me savage

Doom laden
Light my way
With candle dripping tallow
And flame of dimmest red
With hesitation I follow
Stumbling and lost no doubt
Yet still I follow

                              By Phil Roberts

I feel that there are times
when I could reach out my hand
and touch my own death.
This causes me no regret or fear
for I have lived in my own way-
Godless and lawless but
with a belief in knowing
what's right and wrong.
So, as my ghostdom awaits me
I shall not tremble in my shoes
I'll greet him with a wink
and my best angelic smile

                                      By Phil Roberts

As so often
I find myself telling the same story
Of a reckless young man
Who skated on thin ice
With every move and decision
A gamble
A spin of the wheel
Risking sanity, soul and life
Spin and spin again
Add passion to the grinding day
Add colour to the morbid grey
Oh, foolish young man
Now that he's old and damaged
Boredom raises it's dull-eyed head
As he practises being dead
Spin and spin again

                                  By Phil Roberts