Meet you in Poland;
The cold, kilowatt-measured, complicated love triangles. The third being who I think I am.
Meet you in Poland;
The love sensed, purple-tinted, misogynistic air.
It’s where she lives. She’ll play the flute there, I’m sure. I heard my neighbour through the dented walls; dented by the amount of people who have lived and moved out. I heard them play flute. I dented the walls moving out. I thought, **** it, they’ll remember me by it. Unlikely though, I’m not the first to dent. I saw the light on in there once, after I’d dented the walls. The light was never on when that room was ours.
Meet you in Poland;
You’re off with the third but the one you think I am. And you’ve put him onto a second man. Not me.  So I’ll meet you in Poland

Sometime in September,  I was invited into deep water whilst my life jacket was on rent. There was a woman on the radio, and an insect on my forehead. I named him a her, confessed purity and stabbed my best friend. Sat under a burning tree, with a woman whose name escapes me. She stands up and leaves. Ah the curse of being useless.
Other than those muddy boots I would wear, I own nothing. And the politicians out on patrol, they have the papers, they have control. My radios screaming still, "we can’t afford the toll"

holding the sign
next to the airport
pointing to the motel
that doubles as a court
the people here are ugly
but I’m unwanted
they’ve sentenced me
to beg between her thighs

once a snowman
twice ate paint
never shared a bed
nothing here for free

borrowing a coat
holes in the mirror
only passing through
the way you treat her

keeping your bathsheba
praising your cain
a ballad to the perverted
to ease the pain

i am fortunately english my dear, so i won't be going anywhere soon.
i won't be getting off this train because i've got no stops to make. all the culture comes to me and the culture is on demand. like some guy on the high street playing some pan pipes. and he's probably playing, just so he can afford to eat and he's probably not even peruvian but I can't tell by looking at him. you know we all like something odd and we all like something foreign, and as long as they don't take our jobs, we can just laugh at them.  you know, everyone I'm stood with, wants to send him back home, but don't you think he'd be at home, if he could. i see whats in my pockets and I feel sorry for myself. It doesn't matter if i'm speaking out of tune, no one hears in the first place. and forgive me for being blunt but it's the only way i can get through. but if we need some more poetry. look at the peruvian guy. he's wearing feathers, he's wearing blue. there's some white and red. the way he's stood. and that wireless microphone.
i am unfortunately english, my dear

the extremists are at the table. are at this party. it was a gathering of bodies that, when the mood hit, would eventually run alongside each other. maybe make a little light of the situation. but you find out the brother is dying of something. maybe make light of the situation. you find out the other one is an orphan. maybe make a little light of situation. the extremists are at the table.

her hairs grown longer. longer than i remember
and her cold hands are probably loving some other man.
i wonder if you ever think about me.
there’s women lining up where you once stood guard. i wouldn’t have shot them if being alone was hard.
i don’t like you in my thoughts.
you’re the one think i’d like to forget.

we are not good looking people
we are not pretty
the beautiful own the harbour
whilst the ugly drown at sea
here comes jesus
there's numbers on his wrists
someone beautiful put him in cages
and the ugly set him free
drinking bay leaves
painting the moon
i've aged 26 hours
and it's only noon
the ugly have plans
there's words between dockers
but is drowned out by the ceiling fan
put zeus on this pedestal
he prefers to be naked
people say he's beautiful
but we wish he wore aprons
the dockers said they're
bored of men explaining things
and bored of being sinned
tell the communists to take my sign
they'll fit right in
veins on the windows
theres faces on the walls
of which, i don't recognise at all
the communists stand in solidarity  
with the ugly drowned at sea
tell zeus to be a woman
and jesus will set them free

everyone thinks you're pretty
but we've seen you naked.
we've seen you make love and we've seen you start war.
sometime this afternoon, you put us in your uniform,
everyone thinks you're pretty
but we've seen your dances.
you'd rather us deep fried
than vaguely alive.
everyone thinks you're pretty
but i've seen your violin playing.
you play it with no strings on
you live with no clothes on.
everyone thinks you're pretty
but we've seen you naked

heard you making love to someone nice
heard you making love to someone nice
reading them everything you got
from marx to fryin rice

you think she’d be happy but she’s not
you think she’d be happy but she’s not
no matter what you do,
she’s like that a lot