All time low

My confidence is at an all time low
I can’t seem to find my get up and go
While my confidence is oh so low

A laneway of trees
The late summer breeze
No sense of unease in me
You see, my strap muscles grew
Turned into a noose
Pull and it’s easy for you to be
Without worry

Misshapen and atrophied positive point of view
It’s been an interesting trip to say the least
Now these lovely people I’ve met have appetites to whet
When you’re finished trying to be the ghost at the feast

My confidence was at an all time low
Never a truer word spoken, you had to go I wish
I could say ‘nice to know you’

Barney's magic dog

Have you ever seen a dog run like that mad fucker Barney’s magic dog?
He’ll rip your bollocks off and tear it in tiny pieces, Barney’s magic dog
Barney’s magic dog has run away
Barney’s magic dog ain’t here today

Beardless in Hollywood

As the last flickers of life begin to drain from his body, a bearded figure steps forward wearing a shawl. It is Gregory, bruised and shaking, but unharmed. He kneels beside the broken man, and bears his arm as the paramedics prepare for a desperate blood transfusion.

Post credit sequence. Several years have passed.

Fade up on a dingy LA bar, empty but for the dead eyes of countless Hollywood legends trapped in their greasy frames. And one man, sitting alone in a tuxedo, with a scotch trembling in his grasp.

This is Gregory.

When I squint my eyes up I can see
A brighter timelines new version of me
He’s in the corner by the carvary
His brow’s unfurrowed
Wonder if he’d notice me? Or my empty glass

He’s a 9-to-5, a 4x4
I see his family waiting by the door
He got out of Hollywood before
He made connections and lost direction
Fame at last

Although this love is blind
I know no other kind of rapture
Black or blue, trapped in The Room with you

I dragged him back from beyond the grave
With a big red instrument I made
From the lifeblood that I gave
He’s a loyal old wolfhound
An albatross round my neck

The premier spotlights scrape the sky
My dignity’s in a hearse outside
Upside down from here my life
Is a drunken, pointless
Sunk in sawdust shipwreck

I know this love is blind

Buttery Toast & Tae

Buttery toast and tae
Sometimes at the start, sometimes at the end
But never the middle of day

There are some conditions that give you permission
From out of this rule to stray
When depressingly sober with friends and hungover
With nothing important to say

Buttery toast and tae

Confined to a couch in a comfortable slouch
A thoroughly sordid display
The sunlight is daunting
The real world is haunting you
With guilty thoughts of dismay
The kettle's climaxing and milk is relaxing
Into a beige grey
The smell of the burning and sudden bread-turning
And hard melting chunks giving way
You make an incision with surgeon precision
And boast a triangle buffet

Buttery toast and tae

You've come this far, so why stop now?

Buttery toast and tae

Gobbets of dirty jam
You scrape round the jar where the mouldy bits are
And avoid them whenever you can
Honey all over your hand
It drips down your wrist, full of sweetness
You wistfully dream about lovers who ran
Burning and crispy cheese
It oozes and pours from your chin to the floor
Like a pustulant sore of disease

You shouldn't have this in the day

But with lack of direction and time for reflection
Your brain is complaining and energy waning
And gone to a funeral mourning the cells
That you'll kill with the drinking and over-thought thinking
And full of frustration with no motivation
You're seeking a marvellous kitchen creation
And there's no alternative to the superlative
Buttery toast and tae

Chest beater

Is this a mating display that’s gone and lost its way?
Your little pantomime has wasted quite enough of my time
You know that needlessly striving, weakness-denying,
Steady degradation is worse
So don’t you worry about the living and dying
Puking and crying
Just leave it to the experts

Walking on the wind
Your words ain’t coming in loud and clear
Cos you’re talking nonsense
Truth it bends in a torus when the cracks appear

I don’t care about your imagined conquests
Supposed banging-prowess
Your fickle outlook
How many merry go round routes you took
And while sea eagles are flying
You’re ego-supplying
Shovelling your crumbling self-worth
Your grasp upon the monomyth’s tenuous
Obscene, disingenuous
Your true emancipation will hurt

Walking on the wind
Your words ain’t coming in loud and clear
Cos you’re talking nonsense
Yeah, you’ve friends
But what makes you think that they want to hear your bullshit?

Cos I’m a chest beater - I’m a born leader
I’m a dispute feeder
An affection needer
Let all the rest peter away their time
Neither standing here nor there
While I hide my despair beneath choreographed airs and graces
And Instagram faces I’m bouncing off walls
Making you feel small and peaceful by comparison
It’s embarrassing that this well-worn and jaded show
Is all I know

Cigarettes and wine

Becoming soaking wet with dew
And lately all I want to do is drink it up
So glorious
The hurried multitudes all march in time
Each step a hammer to my addled mind
That scoops me up to an attic room
Outside of time

With cigarettes and wine
And you, by my side
Cigarettes and wine
With you, taste so fine

Waltz me through your photographs
Watch the guitar doze upon my lap
And sigh as vinyl dies
Through the window, smoke escapes
Skip out and see the shape it makes
A diaphanous stair we trip through
On bare feet and firework minds

With cigarettes and wine
And you, by my side
Cigarettes and wine
With you, taste so fine

Dead swinger

The night is foggy, his path is clear
He watches you walk out of here, following close
The cobbles slippy with mud and mist
A hasty glance down at your wrist
The night’s a ghost

Lamplight shines its last
The crowd has long since past
Now it’s just you sharing the morning chills
With a hey there stranger mind if I join you?
Mind if I slide my eyes up on you?
No need for talking, wandering, walking
I’ll eat those clouds from out your mouth

(hey) soul digger
(please) lane whistler
(don’t) dead swinger
(leave) dead swinger

Memory throws up a magpie from out its nest
Due to die, you ask mom why
I’m sorry son that’s just the way things are
When little birdies stray too far
Just let it lie
That circumstance aside
There is a frenzy in these eyes
The kind that roots you to the spot until

You hear a Dead swinger

Get in

Fade in.
Exterior, Guerrero Street, San Francisco.
Dusk.

A man with long, impossibly black hair emerges from an apartment complex. He walks with a slight hunch, his arms barely moving, towards a silver Mercedes-Benz convertible. He wears an oversized blazer, cream combat trousers and sunglasses, despite the waning daylight.

This is Thomas.

Many who aspire to a creative life speak, in jest of course, of wrestling with their ‘inner demons’. But tonight, at the abrupt end of this journey, Thomas will come face to face with his very own.

Give me a sign

The winter stripped my muscles bare
Black icicles and solitaire
And no one seemed to hang around
This nowhere
Hallucinations fill the air
Old bicycles and rusty hair
That disappear without a sound
When I stare

Give me a sign, oh lord
Something that’s mine
I’ve heard what’s right for you won’t pass you by

So a secret season rolls around
Spreads fresh white carpet on the ground
Yet currents warm and perfumes fair
Seem to surround me
Til I’m swept away
In a spectacular daze
The unpredictability of now seems to say

“Wear your cloak, your gratitude
Seek out your folk, the righteous few
With gentle words and energy”
May what I deserve come back to me

Going through the motions

I’m digging it out
I’m building it now
It’s in the ground
I’m digging it now

While plucking on these bass strings
I long for neon shores
My Janus face sings “There’s me, and me on tour”
Sleepless blood is racing
My edges curl with fire
In heated anticipation
Of a ride to somewhere higher
Higher

I’m passed-out on the coat-tails
Just being dragged along
The dusty broken glass trails
Of some old bastard’s song
Still...it’s the life of legends
Rubbing shoulders with the bards
Ignoring cries of dead-ends
Head is older, heart is hard
Heart is hard
So hard

I’m digging it out
It’s something to get freaky about
I’m building it now
It’s reinforced for when shit gets loud
It’s in the ground
A fallout shelter for this Late Late town
I’m digging a hole
A reservoir for my soul

I’m going through the motions
It’s a venomous waste of days
I’m sick and tired of all these wires
This jaded, bloodless maze
A man of few emotions
My fun is just part-time
I’m done with feeling sixty
Vexted, reeling twenty-five
I’m done with going through the motions
Floundering in oceans of acidic soul-corrosion
It’s drawing to a close
So this show’s on me

Grey day

It doesn’t matter where you go
Doesn’t matter what you see in me
Doesn’t matter what you say
It’s a grey day to me
The walls laugh at omens past
That silly bastard misery
Is out of tricks but for his last
Throws a grey day at me

The mood slides, you stay inside
Your mind churns as day turns to night
And a city of pages lures you in
Well-thumbed amber places welcome you with a grin
You know it’s been ages since you’ve had a drink
Meander and come upon your dusty friends
We’ll meet again with hollow souls
The couch swallows you whole

Regurgitated and new
A spectral assembly dance all around you
A surge of red, green and blue
The spectrum resembles the somersault world you knew
When you rubbed your eyes as a child
Son of all things wild
You won’t grow today, so there’s just no way
You’ll know a grey day

Housebroken

The scene melts away, as night falls. A chill fills Thomas' veins as he discovers the house to be completely empty, the partygoers and their garish trinkets all gone without a trace.

Now there are candles. Roses. Silk sheets. And a woman in a red dress, sweeping across the room. She is beautiful, so beautiful, and yet her face is riddled with sorrow.

Bought a meal for two from Mephisto at the Broken Mirror seven hells ago
Now, in my reflection, I can’t see any sense of three-dimensionality
I’m a poorly-wrought caricature at best
Less a personality, a pair of breasts
I’m Bill Murray and he’s Andie
Red dress every day and I can’t breathe
Or move through the house with all these flowers
And pricks everywhere that bleed my hours dry of affection
Attention please!
Invisible people shouting ‘bitch’ at me:

The worst thing about falling apart is the sweaty hand of the disaster artist
So I conspire to perspire another way
Fudding myself on the phone all day
Mother’s on the couch and she wants my ears
Johnathan’s on the couch and he wants my years
I can’t sign in blood if it don’t come
Holding back the tide with a fake son
Shelly’s on the couch with a featherlight brain
And a scales to weigh my life
Dennis is at the door, talking more shit
I’ve palmed a sticky penny for my ferry across this Styx
Sticks and stones and broken homes
And social vultures circling a pattern that’s repeating
I’m a pattern that’s repeating

Don’t you bother rushing on your way home
I just need a little time to fertilise the pieces of my life that ain’t grown
Beyond staring at this bridge dreaming of escaping to some imaginary place
Right on the shores of fixing me and breaking you
Cos between you and me, it ain’t good
I just wanna live

Losing it

I’m wearing circles in the floor
Drowning in the clothes I wore a month ago or more
You know the simple things in life are best
I clutch my tea like mother’s breast
The crows eat cake while I rest

OCD patrol
The white space has been breached
Dead tv spits static through me
But at least I’m not losing it

You know I pace these empty halls at night
I turn to smoke, do what I like
Tomorrow when it’s bright I’ll go outside

But the crowds down there don’t look too civilized
Just try it out sunshine you might just be surprised
There’s clothes to dry and screens to fry my dusty eyes
I’m frozen solid, hours go by, I realise that I’m losing it

Manchild's Monologue

Interior, The Room

A man, dressed like a child, approaches Thomas with a mocking look on his face. He takes a bite from an apple, and speaks.

Don’t you bother stopping on your way home
Picking up some trinkets or a treat
Cos while you’re fretting over your promotion
Your best friend’s slinging semen on your sheets
While you’re putting food upon the table
She’s getting chocolate fingers on the stairs
Right up in there
There’s a seven-year Ishtar who’s able to have men do her bidding
Who owns this pit hidden deep beneath her lair?

Sure it’s yours, it ain’t mine
You’re deluded it’s fine
Are you losing your mind?
Cos everyone thinks you’re blind to what’s been going on

Your home-sweet-home is full of happy endings
That don’t have anything to do with you
Cos she’s expecting nothing but a wedding
And a quick Hotel Procrustes honeymoon
I’m dropping hints like amateur Hail Marys
Whose best friend’s deep in moral bankruptcy?
Whose sense of pride’s away with the fairies?
And whose demise is hanging over me?

Sure it’s yours, it ain’t mine
You’re deluded it’s fine
Are you losing your mind?
Cos everyone thinks you’re blind to what’s been going on
Is it true, Johnathan? No part of you sees nothing wrong
As you drift along, things are going strong
Cos you’re sitting on an atomic bomb

Just as the man-child ceases his tirade, Thomas sees a disturbing sight…a man, dressed exactly like him, descending a staircase into The Room. If he can see Thomas, he doesn’t let it show, but strolls confidently out the front door.

I’m suffering recurring premonitions
Ozymandias lies shattered on the sand
Screams and sirens pull me from my vision
Whose blood is this that’s dripping from my hand?

I’m sure it’s yours

Massive Pockets

Keep your stupid comments in your massive pockets
They say he’s got them massive pockets
Hey! He could be slipping you into them right now
He’s giving you his heart

He’s got massive pockets yeah they’ll never rip
Galaxies at his fingertips
It’s hot, well maybe at least for a little bit
Seven years or so to be precise
But maybe that’s just the cynic in me
“No man’s gregariousness could be so inexhaustible”
I guess we’ll see
It makes you wonder do you understand life

Massive pockets
They say he’s got them massive pockets
Hey! He could be slipping you into them right now
You’re tearing him apart

He’s got a kind word for everybody on the street
Even people that you’d rather iron your sack than meet
He’ll blow your mind with spontaneous generosity
And leave you scrambling, shambling, wondering how
How does he do it?
There must be something to it
That trust – he’ll overdo it
Cos people can be much trickier than a guy with massive pockets

They say he’s got them massive pockets
Hey! He could be slipping you into them right now
So watch your step

Old

I’ve been waiting for you to come by for quite some time
(and that’s no lie)
The big surprise is on your face
There’s magic flowing all over this place

There’s a swamp right in front
(and right behind)
Although your mind is cracking up and running dry
Let down your hair and grab that wine
And get it all over with before it gets old

I made an effort once
You remember that
You might like to live like this but I won’t
You remember that
And grind all your teeth right down while you sit at home
And chew the fat, you’re good at that
15 years ain’t long
15 weeks ain’t long
15 days ain’t long
15 hours ain’t long

Precious

What’s wrong with you?

Sitting on a precious mountaintop
Observing the trees
Swaying in the breeze
Doing just as they please
Your shadow peeps out from beneath a rock And whistles a tune
“Your time is coming soon…”
Swap the sun for the moon

A plague of fantasies descends upon
This haven of mine
And though I know I’m fine
It’s amazing to watch them dine
They're tearing the horizon from the ground
It’s cracking like ice
They’re pulling me inside
Where nothing is born, or dies

We’ll fashion a mask of all your paper planes
(you love it too, don’t you? love it)
Get passionless, bask in awe
Your growing pains hold sway in your head
Groundless and extreme
The source of your dread distressful dreams
If you don’t love it
Why don’t you chuck it out?

A hair emerges from my head
It’s boldly grey amidst brown
As I swim in sound
To you, I’m just fucking around
But while the outside world is grey
My soul replays symphonies
I grab at them and squeeze a mountain
For you and me

A wondrous time was had by all concerned
(you know it too, don’t you? know it)
The candle has died, both ends have been burned away
The friends that you keep love you as you are
Day ends and you sleep, your lover in your arms
If you know it
Why don’t you show it now?

What’s wrong with you?
Don’t bother me
My heart’s abreeze
Treating myself like a precious object
Will make me

Rootless

You can dance, you can move
You can slide, you can groove
If you want to

Rootless, use this form that
You just borrow for a while

You can get your face wet
There’s no law against it yet
If you want to
You can spend all your time
In a bottle of wine
If you want to

But you get lost in a screen
Til your insides turn green
And the buds in you sprout
Til the woods seem to shout out your name
It’s in vain, cos you’ve locked up your brain
It’s a shame

Where’s your smile?
Gimme that smile

Shame Gravy

Fleeing the manic speculations of the crowd, Thomas finds himself outside on a rooftop. The sky feels unreal, the lighting strange. But he is not alone. A lone figure, dressed entirely in denim, paces back and forth, muttering to himself in sheer madness.

People are complicated but that’s scant consolation
To all the kids I beat up after school
But one was so professional he arranged a lesson
To understand just why I lose my cool
Petyr says I’m a vicious cycle of daddy issues
True, but I’ll Spirograph with this one rule
Instead of reaching for a handshake of marijuana
Say yes, I know you want to be kind not cruel
And let someone else take control for a change

Well there’s a certain chill of the spine that creeps up skyward when the phone rings
It chokes the nerves behind my eyes
They lock up, monochrome, glistening
Tiny redemptions stubbed-out
Please don’t mention burned out birthday candles and engagement rings
Because I’m all but snapping
Telltale hearts are tapping Morse for heinous things

And while you stare at the ceiling I can’t help the feeling
That you are pot roast
This stuffing means nothing
Screw your friend’s ghost

Well the shades don’t hide and the blade don’t glide away these guilty stings
I’m sweating day and night that you just might call and say those filthy things
We did on couches, stairs, the clothes my best friends wears
Monday to Friday, while he brings home all the bacon to you
While you’re making love to the worst part of me

Cos you strip off my clothing and all my self-loathing temporarily

You are pot roast
This stuffing means nothing
Screw your friend’s ghost

If Petyr had an inkling of just what I’ve been thinking
How would he deal with all the load I bear?
Cos who can therapize the therapist realising
That he’s responsible for my affair?
Perhaps I should dig him a hole just in case

Sunset

Thomas feels the world around him contort and twist, as a blinding light spreads like a migraine across his vision, consuming everything in sight.

Watch the sun

I watch the sunset and say to myself
“I’m doing it tomorrow”
I watch the sunrise
To my surprise, I’m doing it today

My therapist says make a list
Of all that you’ve accomplished
Your basket weaving
Your primal screaming
And could it be
The fear is leaving?

Wandering out on the way
It’s inevitable that you’ll stray
As you pick yourself up, day in day out
Tell yourself the way that people live all around you
Is wrong
And put on a show
And laugh even though
Your get up and go is gone

So hide it in a box and keep it
Secret close to where I sleep
In case some personality
That I’ve repressed inside of me
Can silently, with Morpheus
Complete my magnum opus
While I get back to the art
Of tearing my whole world apart

Wandering out on the way
It’s inevitable that you’ll stray
As you pick yourself up, day in day out
Tell yourself the way that people live all around you
Is wrong
And put on a show
And laugh even though
Your get up and go is gone
It’s all gone

To do:
Procrastinate til it’s too late
And fornicate (with complications)
Shun socialising
Realising that the world is better off without
Some bleeding heart, piece of shit
Lunatic film script
The sad thing’s I can’t think of anything except this
Or kickstarted ego trips
Or mindfulness hypnotists
Or pop-culture pianists
Or Z-lister nippleslips
Or 1 month free memberships
Or top 10 vacation lists
Change your life with this one trick
You won’t believe it when you
Click

Through a haze of red and blue lights, Thomas sees the men fighting to save his physical form and feels curiously indifferent to their struggle. Why return at all? I’m fed up with this world.

The Misguided Rebellion of a Doormat

Thomas walks outside into the blinding San Francisco sunlight, determined to pursue this better vision of himself.

The boy remains, tormented by visions.

My life is running away from me
Faster than the eye perceives
That I’m just a half-assed montage
The years are running away again
I sold them to grey gentlemen
With wrinkles made of cigarette ash

No-one can stop these feet
They’re driving a hole in the street
Where I’ll make my mark
See the difference in me
So charming, alarming
Out here I’m the star I was born to be

Those parasitic somnambulists
I wonder how they’ll handle this
Their benevolent well has run dry
What am I? Some kind of charity?
Well…Kris R owes a favour to me
After all, who got anywhere by being a nice guy?

Wondering “why is this happening to me?”
I’ll separate the chaff from the wheat
And kill what’s left of this neurotic, this desperate
Split personality
I’m gonna get what’s coming to me
Cos the money shot’s inside of my box
Now it’s time to unlock it and see

The relentless amble concludes back at the apartment. Thomas follows, as the man creeps upstairs. Thinking that he is alone, Thomas' double pulls a box from under his bed. Inside it, a brand new gun and a stack of paper, clumsily stapled together.

The shadows thicken, as the two hidden objects blur and flicker, a noxious odour of blood and gunpowder fills the air.

The man shuts the box, shaking his head.
No…no…not just yet…

No-one can stop these feet
They’re driving a hole in the street
Where I’ll make my mark
See the difference in me
So charming, disarming
Out here I’m the star I’m born to be

The scene is grisly, from the flaming shell, they cut him, pull him, back from hell.
But lying on the sidewalk cracks, he sinks yet further Fade to black.

The Nightmare Begins

Just after midnight, a street in Santa Monica, Los Angeles.

Gregory, a handsome, clearly nervous man, enters the vehicle. His youth makes the driver appear nothing short of vampiric. Together, they disappear down the boulevard.

Thomas and I usually drive late at night
Chasing some light or other
With our fears in tow
What are his? God only knows
Some abyss far from Dean and Brando
Hug and a kiss and “I told you so” from my mother

Now wraparound shades hide eyes
Sunk deep in his face with the immeasurable pressure
Of our dreaming days
And will we ever make the grade?
Thomas and I
Come take a ride with Thomas and I

Making tracks in the dust with a friend you can trust
It’s good for the soul
When you’re down in a hole, low down
Johnathan’s a hell inside his mind
Of a story to tell
He’s trying to find a way to
So I might as well go with the flow
“I’ve got this idea…”

Now the radio fades
The windscreen wipers are blades
I’m the midwife for his midlife crisis
Screaming demon babe
And why is it I feel afraid of Thomas tonight?
Something ain’t right with Thomas tonight

The hunk of twisted metal penetrates the Laemmle Fairfax Theatre.

As the smell of burning gasoline sledgehammers Thomas’ brain into unconsciousness, his eyes roll up over the buildings façade.

“Only in theatres…exclusive preview…coming soon…”

This ends now

Come sailing on this little boat I made
We’ll take a tour of all the little things you hate
And you’ll see the light, you’ll see that life is not what you make it
Strip off your skin, the mess you’re in
Just lie down and take it

A little whirlpool right inside your brain
The paper cripples as it ripples down the drain
You wanted me more than words could say
I lick your wounds at the end of your weary days
But you waltz with your worries
You dance with your broken back
You’re twisted, contorted
You’re kittens in a burlap sack

One day I’ll whittle all your dreams away

Took a walk

I took a walk down the other side
To see what I could see
The flowers and trees all started to hide
There’s nothing here for me
The squirrels chatter like machine gun fire
And the moisture on my eyeballs started to freeze
Beneath the stones, the dead rattle their bones
But there’s nothing here for me

So take a little break from your big mistakes
And live a life, for once, all of your own

Now I turn into a massive lung
And drink up the day
The trees all leap from the soil
And they leave a colossal empty space
Where seasons blend Reason ends
Every corner, a friend
What kind of message is the world sending?
With robins on branches
Conspirators’ glances
Hypnotic red trances
And you
I nearly missed you

Yeah take a little break from your bellyache
And live a life, for once, all of your own

Too little / too late

You say that I’m falling from grace right now?
The back of your head has my face
How it howls!
“I’ll see you when you come down tomorrow”
This shit’s been such a let down
Too little too late
Two insurmountable walls you erect
I’ve bashed my skull off them all
And yet you’ve clawed at every work-round
No, no, no
I’m black and blue and broke down
Too little too late

I’m sorry to say that we’ve come to the end of the line
The dreams that you cling to just ain’t gonna ring true this time
Dissolving our smiles into piles at the scene of the crime
We never did have that aforementioned whale of a time
No!

This is where I sulk...
And see how much you like it! Too childish?
Come on and undermine it
Too little too late
I gave you my heart, I gave you my soul
Gave me a hatful of impurities, doubt, insecurities
Take em and make em yours!
Make em yours
That’s give and take

Save me from this importunity and bury me in a shallow grave
Where fortune shares serenity with what’s left of me
Dig me up, send me some other place where loving hands can fix me
Into some delightful shape
A brand new man

Whole

A silent blue electric sound
Arrests your ears, rolls around
And it consumes the empty fields between your thoughts
It feels serene, but you’re not a bit immune
Or able to resist
It speaks the language of your soul
Takes you by the wrist
Pulls you from your hole
Into the night

Fly in inverted castle dreams
Replace your eyes
It’s not what it seems
It’s not in you
No it’s not And it can’t bring you away
From the life your heart wishes for
It speaks the language of your soul Takes you by the wrist
Pulls you from your hole
Fills you with light

When it’s over, you’ll be older
And wiser too
With a strong head on your shoulder
Nice to climb into
Strike a balance
Let this challenge embolden you
And it’s over before you know it
Its hold on you

Workin'

I’ve been working like a demon, day and night
Trying to find something that’ll chill my mind
Yeah, fiddling and foostering away my time
With crepuscular soliloquies
And half-distilled pigeon-willed brain moonshine
Plans and schemes and pipe dreams with a twist of lime
So if the way you see yourself seems a tad unkind
Stop in your tracks, relax, and grab a piece of mind

It’s not the crowd’s rush, not the rocks thrust
Not your disgust, not the tired faces
Not used-to-be-nice places, bombast
Not the bombs blast, clocks that run fast
Not artless provocation, academic masturbation
It’s not the spinning round, dizzy
Greyhound-skirt herd of dirtbirds
Out in this weather?
Parents should know better

It’s the unconscious dose
RSI-in-the-wrist ghosts
Aspire to exist only
In a daze while they expire slowly
Screen-stealers
Our dream-weavers
The team-leaders
And time-bleeders
Know where they’ll lead us
Nowhere to lead us
Nowhere

Your brain’s under beta strain
Think only in terms of gain
Your heart and your soul
Are not coming back again
Forget all you used to know
Your brain needs relaxing when you’ve been
Working like a demon

World of your own

Never did no wrong
Never did enough
Ever make a song and dance
For fancy folk you thought were above you?
Throw your hat at it
Out hops a rabbit
He points a paw and laughs at your ceaseless pursuit of love
But oh those simple melodies
They put your mind at ease
Here in this world of your own
A world of your own creation

Give it all you got
Think you’re fine, but you’re not
Ambitions rot because you left them far too long on the shelf
Deep down you insist
That you’re an idealist
Do you remember optimistic you, how good she felt? No?
Do you recall your altruistic view, your heart of wealth? No?
Then the simple energies
Are all that you need
Here in this world of your own

If you’re distracted by the bitterness you face
Kicking back against the rats within your race
If the world makes you struggle getting out of bed
Girl there’s no trouble, make another one to live within instead
And get out of your head!

Now you gaze into the trees
And graze on twitching leaves
Here in this world of your own
All of your own