Buckle this screen
Blacken the silver
Sentiment is a wet cement in my gullet
My hands were once tools, silhouettes
Once hares, once birds, now ghosts
I kneel in rubble and the ordure of pigeons
I kneel before the cement-master
I do a mixture
I am a mixture
Mixture is me me me
I am walking through
North
Without
Bar
Very intelligent, very alone
But I cock up on the forecourt so that
Fuel evacuation services are required
They are perhaps brilliant as I am turned down
I am truly removed
I am moved...truly
Loyalty is well lost, I disrespected
No-one, not even the woman from Rome
This is just a cover...my card-playing friends
Have now arrived...so screw you
Buddy's gangsta speak, false
What do you mean?
Oh my time with Lizzie...
I will think of my
Empire every time I visit the Emerald Isle
Statues and seats on the front row
I am so thin
I am so erect
It's the God's honest truth
I dated a black girl back in the seventies
Eh mate...
What?
Your pal was so quiet...embarrassed by my
Reckoning
The definition of friends weighs
Heavy on my mind
Heavy on my mind
Heavy on my mind