Feb 2021
Woke up feeling angry at the world
Woke up feeling broke
Like my heads been for a spin in a microwave until ping
It miraculously stopped just as it was about to cave
But if you press your wretched hands against my neck I’m sure to pop
Go on, I’m pleading for you to finish me off
Wait… is this what it’s like to feel dead?
Room spinning, never winning, forever sinning
If so I need to make a call to make sense of it all
‘111' dial
I’m positive I’ve got a brutal hangover but maybe it’s that Corona
What harm am I doing by checking?
It’s not like the NHS is on life support
Errrrrrrm oh yeah I remember
Like terminal cancer it ain’t got much longer
It’s the equivalent of the health minister twiddling his thumbs while Rome burns
Only seeing fit to patch up a 6 inch laceration with a plaster
Save the stitches for later when there’s a proper disaster
Like when WIFI goes down for an hour or the fridge is free of milk
It’s even more intensified in a pandemic
When we’re all too scared to leave our houses
That’s a proper crises
Unless there’s a chance of ***
Then every resistant thought heads straight for the bin with whatever remains of your morality
‘Rolling eyes emoji’, ‘hands in front of my eyes emoji’
You get the picture
Because communication rarely involves words these days
A meaningless glance at your screen can tell you everything that they really mean
No hiding place or time to get lost in space
Waiting for a written response that you’ll inevitably take out of context
Sometimes I really hate the internet
Unless I need to use Google
Contact my bank
Buy food and clothes
****, I’m ****** useless without it
My contradictory existence circles around my tired head like an uncontrollable vortex
Once I realised life without this drug is an unrealistic prospect
No matter how much damage it’s propelled upon me
There’s more pain waiting along the road
if I have to give you up there’s a real chance I’ll swiftly implode
That’s a real addiction isn’t it?
Like a lumberjack with his ****** exe struggling to see the wood for the trees
I’m struggling to acknowledge the difference between fact and fiction
For all I know I could be a best seller
Or a gutter press journalist silenced with an interdiction
Even in aeroplane mode I attack with such bedevilment
Scrambling around in the shadows trying desperately to be heard
With the deplorable aim to stay relevant
I’d even put on a mask of distraction and act with impure benevolence
If the ends justify the means
One day they will, I’m sure of it
Woke up feeling broke
Like my heads been for a spin in a microwave until ping
It miraculously stopped just as it was about to cave
But if you press your wretched hands against my neck I’m sure to pop
Go on, I’m pleading for you to finish me off
Wait… is this what it’s like to feel dead?
Room spinning, never winning, forever sinning
If so I need to make a call to make sense of it all
‘111' dial
I’m positive I’ve got a brutal hangover but maybe it’s that Corona
What harm am I doing by checking?
It’s not like the NHS is on life support
Errrrrrrm oh yeah I remember
Like terminal cancer it ain’t got much longer
It’s the equivalent of the health minister twiddling his thumbs while Rome burns
Only seeing fit to patch up a 6 inch laceration with a plaster
Save the stitches for later when there’s a proper disaster
Like when WIFI goes down for an hour or the fridge is free of milk
It’s even more intensified in a pandemic
When we’re all too scared to leave our houses
That’s a proper crises
Unless there’s a chance of ***
Then every resistant thought heads straight for the bin with whatever remains of your morality
‘Rolling eyes emoji’, ‘hands in front of my eyes emoji’
You get the picture
Because communication rarely involves words these days
A meaningless glance at your screen can tell you everything that they really mean
No hiding place or time to get lost in space
Waiting for a written response that you’ll inevitably take out of context
Sometimes I really hate the internet
Unless I need to use Google
Contact my bank
Buy food and clothes
****, I’m ****** useless without it
My contradictory existence circles around my tired head like an uncontrollable vortex
Once I realised life without this drug is an unrealistic prospect
No matter how much damage it’s propelled upon me
There’s more pain waiting along the road
if I have to give you up there’s a real chance I’ll swiftly implode
That’s a real addiction isn’t it?
Like a lumberjack with his ****** exe struggling to see the wood for the trees
I’m struggling to acknowledge the difference between fact and fiction
For all I know I could be a best seller
Or a gutter press journalist silenced with an interdiction
Even in aeroplane mode I attack with such bedevilment
Scrambling around in the shadows trying desperately to be heard
With the deplorable aim to stay relevant
I’d even put on a mask of distraction and act with impure benevolence
If the ends justify the means
One day they will, I’m sure of it
