Ring

Ring O ring, so wireless,
The test-tube spilled its virus:
Atishoo, atishoo,
We all fall down.

The sheep are in TV-land
Boozing from the cup:
Atishoo, atishoo,
We all fucked up.

Where

I was raised in a border town called Curiosity,
Where the people all seemed kind of spurious to me,
So I left to learn from books at the old monastery
Where the monks taught me science and arts and much of mystery.

And now I live in a house called Liberty.
There is a garden out the back
Where stands an apple tree.
The rent I pay is high - but our land is free.

The windows stop the rain
But let the light come through,
Which shows the features on my face
And all the things I do,
But not the creatures in those places
Where these last thoughts grew.

The Book of Lives

Lives unfold like a book, this should be no surprise,
We’ve all got shit up our arses and tears in our eyes;
Yes, we’re nothing but bags of pulsating offal,
For the world starts and ends as a rotting meat-brothel.

The first level of liars are those persons whose claims
Show they speak from their hearts and not out of their brains;
The worst kind of traitor’s the lover who pleads
That great trees of trust must branch out from good seeds.

Old mirrors reflect my face misted and faded,
But not what’s behind – a soul twisted and jaded;
Once more, eyes seek hope in that last line of verse:
Forever, for never, for better or worse.

Just like you, I’ve tried to believe life’s what you make it,
Unlike you, to feel this I fucking well fake it;
I have tried so damn hard to find those golden doors,
All I’ve reached is this endpoint: we’re all pitiful whores.

Our world is a Hell with a thin coat of Heaven,
And the number which follows six-one-six is black-seven;
You may read all these words if they give you no trouble,
But you’ll soon forget them if they burst your sweet bubble.

Like cakes, words have layers – of meaning, not fruit:
You should always judge cards by both number and suit;
The secret lies here, climax-lush, just like sex:
The last line lays it clear : X X X X X X

The Chalice of Choice

‘Existence is wondrous, the chalice of choice
Has made gods out of beasts, so let’s all shout rejoice’!
Believe this and life’s brutal trap’s got you caught,
Because science shows choices come well before thought.

Categorization as winner or loser
Is unlinked to your belief you are a chooser;
Events unfold patterns of physical laws -
The illusion of free will is theirs, and all yours.

Our awareness of making up our mind’s a tale -
A story we tell ourselves, succeed or fail;
From galaxies down to the last superstring
We are all clockwork fools ‘cause fate’s doing its thing.