Saying nothing to no one
about nothing you could know,
let the time slow his wits
not yours.

In the cauldron, we'll all turn to smoke
and then something or nothing
will make the joke
and we'll laugh as we go around in circles
looking for the flue,
smoke turning to blue
as it does.

I heard you at a bar down in Clapham
you had a hat on,
a trilby
it killed me,
but you were good
the audience applauded and
the girl is the sequins bought you
a Martini.

When we die as we do
doing what we know
going on with the show
because that's what we do,
we do it and enjoy it
that little bit of death, the fear
that brings breath to your lungs.

I slave away each day and wonder what was it that the slaver would say to me as he cracked the fat whip at me and suddenly as the lights are turned white when the night checks in
I see the grin on his face and there's no place like home.
ask Toto he knows and nothing or no one says nothing that they know
except me,
slow-witted
pitted against the world and its wife
I live it and that's life
to me.