All
wiring wrong
This
life’s not mine
It
doesn’t shine.
Electricity’s
gone
No
switches on
There
is no song
The wine stays on the vine.
A
need to flee
And
to be free
But
escape itself a jail.
Roads
are closed
And
sign post’s down
The
flood has risen
And
hope has drowned.
The
damaged goods at the factory
No
buyers for the failed
Are
stored out back behind the shed
Silently
waiting for someone
From
some charity to come
And
make them into bedding for the poor.
But
charity’s feet should lead to my door
So
the bedding is for me.
I
have sucked form the nipple of the devil
That
milk’s an endless well
The
more is sucked the more the need
His
breast becomes a pregnant swell.
So
nothing’s changed
And
the bedding’s still for me.
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