Neil pisses in the wind as Vivian burns the beds

Socks run away from the machine, stinking torys are smellier though

Teddies tucked up in bed, unaware of the death flight

of kamikaze pigeons shitting on people’s eads

and cooing at cats

Blott on the landscape tips beer on pixies feet to get rid of the fear

Black cat plays on the stairs while schools corrupt people with ideals of heroism

Better to follow paganism, music and the God of telecasters

Star Wars kills us all and all that is left is Candice the crocodile

And her husband Sinatra, my way or the highway he sings with Chris Rea

We are all on the road to hell