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Broken with every bone
Torn out, ripped and lesser than better now
Faced with protest and learning to count the golden
crumbs of hope I will hold onto for as long as I can
Open close, a bruising rose, the fever here is overflowing
Open close, a bruising rose, the fever here is overflowing now
Shaping the future to come
Hold on tight to your dear ones
I will not refrain from
Holding hope
If I must
Holding hope
If I must
So what’s the use for it now?
What's the use for it now?
What's the use?
And it's open close, a bruising rose
Broken in every bone
Torn up, ripped up
Broken with every bone
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So easily, distracted
And publicly , disgraced
So greedily, enacted
Purposefully, displaced
Self Service, Reverse it,
Spread it around to those who deserve it
Paid in, sold out
Pure Greed, forced drought
It makes no sense
Priorities and incompetence
I'm not confused, just fucking angry
at the state of things, this shit we carry
I'm not confused, just fucking angry
crippling anxiety
Ratfucked by the few who are paid to protect us
Pull of all their fucking heads
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Empty houses on empty streets
Elvis has left the building
Elvis has left the city
Beneath the ground until the spring
We come out of hibernation
floor boards will bend til they break
When I was up to rinse the heat
take one extra spoon of coffee
to make up for those around me
farewell to that old routine of work like a chump all week
a real pirates life for me
Yo ho
I do declare there will be footprints on the ceiling
there will be space for music once again
Maybe not this year but maybe next
maybe that's a stretch
we’ll reoccupy the places we hid (Under the table)
Nights alive, lit up across the country
like a vivid constellation or a star sign
And when we look back on the songs unsung,
the drinks undrunk,
the hugs unhugged
might as well make up for it while we still got the lungs and the capacity to fill them up because
There will be space for music once again
no one could have known we’d fall into this trap
Fortune fading from my face
This is a scam, no one could have known we’d fall into this trap,
Fortune fading from my face
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Once again, it’s been a pleasure. It’s like we’ve known each other for years.
And all at once I come aquiver.
My hands, not a corporeal form of which I can operate independent volition.
Your eyes, suspended in an otherwise featureless eternity of supermarket car parks and takeaway kitchens.
My lungs, long lost, I lose, wait, what? I can’t go there, I hate this. I haven’t been there in ages.
A supple sip, a sting, so what? I’ll maybe head there later once it’s all wound down a bit,
And like a monument I sit, and listen the kids swap foolhardy sentiments.
He’s got a face like a fishing rod. God knows where he is now.
And yeah, sure, I can cry a lot,
But my neatest vocation is sleeping in the space between your cold, cold bones and your lack of a sense of humour.
I know from my own very real and imagined experience just how overwhelming being underwhelmed can be.
My lungs, long lost, I lose, wait, what? I can’t go there, I hate this. I haven’t been there in ages.
A supple sip, a sting, so what? I’ll maybe head there later once it’s all wound down a bit,
And like a monument I sit, and listen the kids…
Sure, the boy’s incandescent like they say.
Ate every crumb he was served then went away.
Eyes like bathtubs, full to the brim with the dull sense of dread,
Mixed in with the bath salts and all the nice things you said.
Funny how these things turn out. A picture of you on the wall.
A tall glass beside your intention to try not to try not to call.
Yes, I can see you. You who are still there.
A little bit of something of you fancy.
A little bit of something’ of you fancy, if you please
Yes, I can see you just fine. You amongst us who are still here like a backache.
A little bit of de-centralisation for your personal department of corrections.
Ooh ahh just a little bit more.
It’s maybe five years down the line, and I mean down the line from the time that was already two or three years down the line.
And I can see your legs buckle beneath the weight of the façade.
And in the sea of bad ideas and a failure to recognise the bad memories, I drown.
Oh brother, oh bother, oh me, oh my.
You have correctly identified the answer from a pre-populated list of possibilities.
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Dams have burst,
Split at the seams,
Rebirthed.
The will and the means,
Have burned,
Bearing your teeth
If this is really the difference,
between the black and the grey,
pick the dam or the river,
cause they're one and the same.
Hands still soaked,
wet with this blood,
still choked.
chewing the cud like goats
when the wave comes
Arrested on a leave of absence
correct this grammar if you must
a curse still potent over distance
a faith non existent in this trust
When the waves come
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