as right cheek on pillow
and cool eye towards the morning
the greatest poem
then the words vanish
and I cannot not bring them back
I pick up my phone
and TAP TAP the vilest thing I can
and send it out into the world
Faucets made of plastic
overflowing with rubbish
this world, what has it come to?
Is this the way we end?
It's raining with acid in your plastic world
the ocean is polluted with the packaging of death
your eyes cannot see anymore
you shield yourself with this a rose shade on stage
is that really you?
You sing your story for the world,
but is your story true?
Everything is plastic
everything is fake.
Sigh, I'm really not good
I feel rubbish really bad headache and tired
I'm look like a messy
I am feeling poorly today
I get quite depressed about my situation
at home with my love
I try to be positive and honest,
calm and supportive to everyone
I like musical theatre and listening to songs
I wish I was slimmer and fitter
But I still think I’m a bit attractive
I love to laugh and to learn
There is something that bugs me about love
I’m going to go have a rest now.
It's all just cause and effect,
Protect and reject
Detect and defect,
Discard and collect
Trust in the trash,
Liars mix and match
Selling you the shady shit
That destroys every pact
Getting luck from a draw
The Irish in me is called
As my number is pulled
Adrenaline is pulled forth
But here is my call,
The Misfortunate fall
Around me stands doors
And all lead to closed corridors....
A beach of plastic, sky blue
illuminating the waters like they do.
A blue haired boy and green skinned man,
a missing young one from Japan.
Headed out 'cross oceans wide
with Russel by her side.
The dimmer days blotched out with sun,
a kitten face and hunting gun.
All alone in need of help
on that beach washed over with kelp.
there was no need for a psychics
when the dead rose from their grave
because people tend to like it
if there's money they can save
they threw away their Ouija boards
and they put their tarot down
and nether realms went unexplored
once the zombies came to town
knock once for yes, twice for no
was consigned to the past
with corpses up and on the go
they went out of business fast
as seance bookings went due south
and no use for psychic writing
you got it from the zombie's mouth
if you could stand the biting
the mediums lost their livelihood
and any chance of wealth
no middle men was understood
speak to the dead yourself
with cadavers up and running
the psychics welcome was out-stayed
well, they should have seen it coming
and took up another trade
out of luck and had their chips
they said it wasn't fair
but in a zombie apocalypse
psychics end up Medium Rare