| I was the first match struck at the first cremation, you are my shallow grave,
|
| I’ll tend you as a sexton
|
| If you’re the casket door that’s being slammed upon me, I’ll be a plague cross
|
| painted on your naked body
|
| Well summer sighed and summoned up hail. |
| Dirty in dish rack drips the holy grail
|
| May be heartslob but I want 'em to know, cut and shut us like a portmanteau
|
| We sit around jus' spitballin', all the witches cackle round my cauldron
|
| Recognise the lies from my poker tongue (is it true???)
|
| They say you and me are tautology
|
| What grows from the seeds,
|
| can you quite believe?
|
| through cracks come the weeds,
|
| Long time listener, first time caller,
|
| no need to remind me
|
| What death leaves behind me
|
| Why must I lie awake, from dusk until the morning, through fear of bein'
|
| impaled upon errant mattress spring?
|
| Within a waking dream I finally made my heel turn, lived life as Super 8 when
|
| you were promised Hilton
|
| Propose me as a pardon for sins, led on barbecue I’m burnt offerings
|
| I proof-read the Book of Job for the Lord: edit one, League Cup 2004
|
| We, delicate as a filigree, cleared a place for us in the chicory
|
| Colosseum blood will dry in the sun (is it true???)
|
| We tread it carefully, we feel around in kid-gloves
|
| What death will leave behind, death will leave behind love
|
| We will flower again, I have surely seen it
|
| WE WILL FLOWER AGAIN |