Histle

hello world n it’s Mr Lard
humpling along the boulevard
with waves gently crestling and fumling along
towards gondolas of mindly oolong
shahuffle and shifling shooze
bubbly frizzle and cavooly cooze
riding on top a soliton
tongling solidly among the furloin
it’s Mr Lard now is it not oh I’m sorry it is not
mistaking these funny names you have
will cost us much, how much, it’s nothing
See Lard, well I’ll see to it I’m sure
that bumbling fumble you present us
I’ll smile mona waxingly they cure
Your money is not welcome here
But notes plastered on stadia
And houses of fantasia will
Clink the glasses of news toffers and tills
Click the wirings of swiss and velopes and frills
On back raptors I break into plause and pills
In evenings of London I plausibly feel but deny
All links with less than 3 degrees of tie with photographs
Just to show how professionally we take our graphs
Finals whistle it’s cold you’ll get histle
Large wooden sheds to live in garden room fizzle
To minister the foreign affairs of footballers partying
Bed bites, bad bites, parting gift Mr Lard:
Keep to walking on your mahazing boulevard.

When

when we fly, we fly
higher than birds of prey
lower than birds of steel
fears become like dimples at one's feet
interesting and sweet
and pain, well more real
but with more strength to bear
like shrubs growing up to the sky
thickets where birds can nest
in safety
when we crash -- no one talks about that
the depths needed, when people look away
"'xcuse me, got a minute?"
walls of cold air rise,
glass, that when hit, bruises
I do dream of your gardens
where without reproach or despair
everyone can be looked in the eye
and in it, find again ourselves

Fake

Under grass roof I buried my fears
Over glass roof I shattered myself
I engineered a fake smile in digital ink
I called it "real smile in pink"

And now flowers sway in virtual breeze
Follow each piano key maybe it will
Let me escape "hell on earth"
The latest fragnance by gasoline dreams

Under milk wood the neon is glowing
Under space suits the founders are going
Scorched earth suits the rockets a' blowing
Gorged filth is real most real in the morning

Poison

Take your daily sip of poison

Pay your lazy slip of a tongue
Feel it seep into your pores
Keep it eating up your mores

Those lies buttress against a wall
They're now your lies you voted more
Push your foes off til they fall
News the news we always call

Tear your face off we have no more
Throw our spines off we need no more
Under earth the scales we grow
Here now comes the monster show

Begs the question is it not so
That I should clean your dirty soul
Small-time crooked mud-wallow
Evil were it not shallow

So we'll be spat out but will not
Be fit even for depths below
Just unending misery
Petty habits, slave to grow

So wrote, possibly hypocrite
But one who was sick at the sight
Of people's -- including his --
Inability to act.

And so goes the broken circle
Over and over again told
Should we be surprised even
Richard Nixon has got soul?

Same goes for our own no show, how
Well it had all started but you
Can only be blindsided
For so long, all the people

All the time, and so on and so
Forth, what any of it is worth
What is the way out of here, kind
Thief and saviour of this world?