Songs
of Innocence and Depravity
From In Search
of Pleasure Island: The Manly Travails of the Masculinists
Siren Song
We love
each other as men ne-ver could.
Consumed
with passion for each we love.
And
do-ting-ly,
By false
means we share.
We feast
upon the vi-gil.
Crying
only songs of love.
And ten-der-ly,
We have each other so . . .
(From The Tragic
Amours of Erysichton)
Blocked
Up
No
matter how hard I push I get nowhere.
Push. Push. Push.
Nothing.
I can feel the blood swelling now.
Building up.
This is the worst thing that has ever happened.
Pain.
I'm losing consciousness.
I must keep on pushing.
The end is in sight.
I can feel it coming now.
Onwards into the abyss.
I'm getting nowhere.
Here it comes.
Relief.
(From The Tragic
Amours of Erysichton)
The Bin Man
He takes out the
rubbish.
He's looking pretty
sluggish.
I think he needs a
pee.
I'll offer him some
tea.
I can't do anymore
of this.
I really need a
piss.
I want to go home.
I need to use the
phone.
(From .
. .)
A Bin Man’s Comfort
Drifting bin-man
drinks,
Haunts gladly,
ancient girls sob;
Brightly,
childishly.
(From .
. .)
Slick Rick
There was an Old Pedo of Bangor,
Whose face was
distorted with anger;
When not in a pram,
He decided to SPAM,
That dirty Old Pedo of Bangor.
(From .
. .)
Speak Not of Your Suffering
Huddled close and
sheltered from above;
The winds streak
through
The
broken passage.
Dressed like beggars,
new born;
Blinking in the
artificial sun
Minds
absent of a better day.
Weened on half-truths;
Dillusioned, with thought
Of
life's travails.
The heat of summer
and furious winter;
Are each theirs and
in between
Each
year taking little forth.
Away from here,
close by;
The same blind
youth
Are
cut from their mother's
womb.
(From .
. .)
Tyrannosaurus Rex
Suspended on an
iron hook,
Another
‘victim’ laughs.
Oh that Saddam, what a jolly nice man.
Shame to miss the acid baths.
What’s a few hundred thousand deaths,
Between
you and a friend?
Such a crying shame
his reign of peace,
Has
met its tragic end.
If he had stayed
but a few more years,
Think what he could
have done!
A little death, a
little torture;
All
in the name of fun.
But here we are with fascist Bush.
Far
more monster than man.
They cry: Bring Back
Saddam!
(From .
. .)
Sightless Wanderings
Slowly going blind,
perhaps
Should have
bothered me more.
Long ago I lost the ability
To discriminate,
between one and all.
Now, as ever it
must have been
All is a cloudy
chaos.
A
fantastic vague mess.
Somewhere in there I am
Near the edge,
struggling
To
be in and to be out.
It had to happen I suppose,
It was bound to
happen one day.
Now so much complex
beauty
Has
sprung from our groins.
Yet everyone says
the same:
Modern art is shite.
(From .
. .)
Not Without My Onus
Once great we were
all,
Each of us achieved
greatness,
In our own way, as
we wished.
We took what we
could not buy;
Unpunished we
stayed, powerless,
They were, yet not
now.
Now we grow weak
once more,
Weak
against the incursion.
Yet this is how we
pay,
For our misdeeds,
were greater,
Than those we now incur.
Flooded, drowning
in impurity,
We all are now, now
we cannot,
Breathe or speak,
our throats,
Are held tight, as
the cesspit,
We drown in lets
nothing out,
Filth pours in and
yet does not fill.
Eventually it
overflows, as before;
Spreading across
the land covering,
Every inch,
claiming everything.
We brought this on
ourselves.
We created this
filth, it was us,
Who shall clean
this filth,
From the land we love so dear.
(From .
. .)
As I Watch And Wait
My best mates bird is so fucking fit, right.
Like she's got blonde 'air which goes down her back.
I just wanna fuck 'er,
I bet she's tight.
One time right she
bent over I saw her crack.
I'd give her a taste of my nine inch meat.
I bet ya her bush aint blonde, like, you know.
I can also be nice like rub her feet;
You use your thumbs
right and suck her big toe.
I'm not so bad as you might fuckin'
fink;
'Cos I look like a bit of a rough bloke,
It's only 'cos you
know I had a drink.
So me writing this must look like a joke.
Though crude I
appear, I am but a man;
I will win her love
yet, howe'er I can.
(From .
. .)