I want to leave for London in a car that tramples the sunken roads,
But the arrogance of this place is always stronger than the will to keep convention, 
Where their lives are propped up in bronze coated frames,
But quickly I shall impale the corners, starting with the holes of the house.

But this place is confused and left to entrap it’s own young,
And having own sons tainted so you put up walls to keep your sainthood,
Since he’s losing it and drinking again which can’t be seen by the friends,
At last this shall all be our story, 
Coming up with even more obscenities! 


Come on it can’t be held together,
It can’t be helped either,
It can’t be that perfect show,
Where the arm extends far further than it should for her,
It doesn’t tell you how far it goes,
It doesn’t tell what it’ll achieve,
Come on she knows don’t tell her again,

Watching this shrink infatuate
something, a fetish,
Beyond even the most taboo the family
Breaks 
Leaving him and her to suffocate within their own walls,
Thriving yet completely truthfully dying,
Being a saint engages in pride, 
again, 
indulging in fallacy.


But I am happy,
For I know in London I can’t be touched for I shall sever the fingers and 
Suckle the blood, 
Away from the heat.
The complete heat
The absolute sweltering
And
The ultimate saints.