Turn it on its head
look at the pressures we're under
and I've read the script,
ripped it to shreds,
pulled together the scattered, torn
threads of a life that I never knew and
where were you?
designing the pyramid
while I was
climbing the walls?

If A at the point of B intersects with X
I see a rainbow upon which dear Laslow
sits colouring in,
I wonder which way is up,
to cup
one's hands to keep
or
to spread them wide across the vista,
sweep the skies with them,
lobotomise the
lies with them,

I turn it on its head, better the deviL I know than
the ones that are said to lead me astray,
anyway
the pinnacle is the prize if I see the point
through
Laslows eyes,
so I map the route and shoot
for the stars
anything's better than sitting in
paperback bars drinking yesterdays beer
and I got Laslows postcard
saying,
'wish you were here'

smug *******...