This World.

Grasping my face,
Tight between my tips,
Eyes piercing hot,
Thinking about this world,
Which is not mine,
Not mine to control,
Not mine to demolish,
Not mine to rule.

Bits and Pieces. Coppers and Silver.

We squander through the change,
Me and my mother,
We've nearly found some money,
Worthy of spending,
I pass her a twenty pence piece,
It adds up to fifty.

Just the other day,
I found her crying,
Father at work,
Mother drowning,
She squandered on,
Through her change.

I sat playing,
Writing and looking,
Heard the click of the door,
So I went running,
Mother stepped in,
Empty handed.

Bringing Home The Bacon With A Gun In My Hand

You're revolting,
Cheque in hand,
Children will be fed,
You'll drown,
My hand on your head,
Let the children frown,
They'll not understand,
Because you,
You're poisonous,
How could you?
That smell,
The smell of him,
Upon your neck,
Your lips,
Across your hips,
Between your legs,
Sick,
Taste within my mouth,
Grasping a gun in my hand,
Glance down,
No mercy,
I'll give you the money,
Leaving you laying upon the ground.

A Shadow Is Just As Lonely As It's Master.

Everyone has a shadow,
Yet like us,
They're all different.

They'll never see,
The orange sun,
For we are the shadow of our shadow.

And as a man,
You'll ask yourself,
'What does that make me?'

There's New And There is Old.

You've got to question wether or not the memories your mind holds are real or not. We live in the now and if we lived in the past or future we would still live in the now. So I question,'Do we remember or do we imagine?'