A purple sky arrived the night I returned home to empty arms, so ominously calm. A lovely bitter breeze hung over the wet cliffs beneath my trembling knees, and whistled through the trees. Down the way, the city lamps were bright as day. Through the haze, they flickered wildly as they swayed. No parade to welcome me back to the city I despise, too busy getting by. The gates were open wide, so typical of these folks to devise so timely a demise. The stench of human waste made haste to complicate the scent of death and fate and so I had arrived. It’s a pain, the petty tax to not be slain, so too the stain of frugal feasts and pseudo-fame. Dressed in shame, the shadows must be paid before they fade into promises and games. This is hell. Can I leave with you now? Could we soar and find a way out of this town? Can we go to a place where no one knows? Because I’ve been so down, hanging around in my home town. I’m sick of the sound and the sights and the crowds in my home town. On the main street, they beat their meat and sell kebabs that taste like feet, with rosaries for good luck. The cobbled roads, once cute, played host to toothless, lubed, unwilling prostitutes, and manic topless jocks. Broken spines and bottles take out eyes. Steel-toed boots lay waste to screaming, curled-up youth. Bath-salt bouncers, enraged, crumple dying, date-rape victims into pulp and throw them down the back stairs. I caught a glimpse of 20 pipers lying face down in the mud, at dawn, waiting for the storm. His Ponzi scheme falling apart, Lot sent his daughters to the cardinals, who ran the virgins out of town. Trumpets blazed and beckoned down the rain. Drunkards swayed, still drowning in old pain. As they prayed, the urchins slit their wrists into the Nile and died after a while. This is hell. Can I leave with you now? Could we soar and find a way out of this town? Can we go to a place where no one knows? Because I’ve been so down, hanging around in my home town. I’m sick of the sound and the sights and the crowds, the bottled up pain, the corroding brains, the love so distilled by triumph of the will, the cows stuffed with cash, the Dali moustache, the insecure pricks, the self-shackled chicks, the food thrown away, the murder parade. I’m fucking appalled, I’m sick of it all of my home town.

With regards to the war in the Middle East, research; report; rinse; repeat. The dollar-eyed puppeteer carves up his meat, research; report; rinse; repeat. Mine the truth and keep it locked inside. Distribute the sugared cyanide. Because when the emperor’s soldiers land to annex all the oil man’s sand, it is but the righteous hand coming down to plant the white flag. And when the questions do arise, they should all be sanitised. Remind the kids that all, all you need is war. Reality is forged and in the end the pawns all fall down. Consent to the endless monopoly, research; report; rinse; repeat. A ringing endorsement for the pyramid scheme, contort; report; research; repeat. Parliamentary guns fixed to royalist jeeps, research; report; rinse; repeat. Slavery masked by false celebrity, research; report; rinse; repeat contort; distort; mince; repeat. Nationalism must be idolised and poverty wrapped in aid for prying eyes. Because when the emperor’s soldiers land to annex all the oil man’s sand, it is but the righteous hand coming down to plant the white flag. And when the questions do arise, they should all be sanitised. Remind the kids that all, all you need is war. Reality is forged and in the end the pawns all fall down. Carthaginian militia ring the bells of defeat, research; report; rinse; repeat. A pepper spray grenade for the oracle’s leech, research; report; rinse; repeat, contort; distort; mince; repeat, retort; abort; distract; defeat. Sectarians paid to replace the A-Team, research; report; rinse; repeat. The resources are drained and the recession’s been beat, research; report; rinse; repeat. contort; distort; mince; repeat, retort; abort; distract; defeat and dilute; dissect; destroy; defeat. Memories must now be swept aside, cast in iron and moulded into lies. Because when the emperor’s soldiers land to annex all the oil man’s sand, it is but the righteous hand coming down to plant the white flag. And when the questions do arise, they should all be sanitised. Remind the kids that all, all you need is war. Reality is forged and in the end the pawns all fall down, yeah, in the end the pawns all fall down, yeah, in the end the pawns all fall down, yeah, in the end the pawns all fall down.

Well, everything is new and shiny and that’s what keeps the poor at war, beyond the oft-recycled fashions and the convenience stores, that’s where they got me on possession, as I was handing out advice. They caught me distributing flyers about the military-industrial complex and sacrifice. In a bright, white room they abused me until I prayed to the market movers and housewives of LA. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh yeah, they got me drinking from the bottle, they got me eating from the trough, oh yeah. If this is freedom, I must be in hell, because television ain’t enough. You know this modern world’s sucked the life out of me and the pills ain’t strong enough. When they released me, I was happy, long as I partied and consumed, but when I ran out of money and had no further use, when I saw through the illusion and I was standing all alone atop a mountain of tyres and Styrofoam dreams, gasoline and unsold phones. The whole world was on fire, except the malls we lived in but I couldn’t pay rent, because I’d just been evicted. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh yeah, they got me drinking from the bottle, they got me eating from the trough, oh yeah. If this is freedom, I must be in hell, because television ain’t enough. You know this modern world’s sucked the life out of me and the pills ain’t strong enough. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh yeah, they got me drinking from the bottle, they got me eating from the trough, oh yeah. If this is freedom, I must be in hell, because television ain’t enough. You know this modern world’s sucked the life out of me and the pills ain’t strong enough. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, they got me drinking from the bottle, they got me eating from the trough, oh yeah. If this is freedom, I must be in hell, because television ain’t enough. You know this modern world’s sucked the life out of me and the pills ain’t strong enough. If this living, I must be dead, because your visions ain’t enough. If this is penance, I must be the Pope, because my guilt can’t buy me love. And if this progress, I must be Henry V, because the lads are just kicking off. And if this is winning, I must be Valerian, because the yoke ain’t high enough.

Somewhere down the line lies a girl with a broken neck. Somewhere down the line screams Crassus for more respect. Somewhere down the line burns a fire station still on strike with a million charred Cherokee-hide soap dispensers, and used up soul cleansers. Lo and behold; the medicine has arrived, your fortune’s told: you’re going down that line. The heavens are falling, the dreams are put to bed, the horsemen, they are calling for every greasy head. Everyone must pay the fine. Everyone will do time, somewhere down the line. Somewhere down the line there’s a false prophet being flayed. Somewhere down line hides Brutus, ashamed and afraid. Somewhere down the line there’s new corporate-backed organ bank being thanked for its swank flank attack co-operation, to standing ovations. Lo and behold; the ides of March are on time, your palms are greased - you’re going down that line. The curtains are burning, the stages shrink in fright, below, turbines are turning and the beasts are deep inside. Everyone must lose their minds. Everyone will do time, somewhere down the line. Somewhere down the line there’s a piglet chewing up its own tail. Somewhere down the line Gaius laughs and has the Vestals impaled. Somewhere down the line there’s an imperator on the floor, with his jaws wrapped round poor eunuch balls, as he gnaws and he gnaws and he gnaws in his lost, burning city. Oh, such a pity. Lo and behold, your enemies have turned the tides. You back is turned, you’re going down that line. The festival’s erupting, the locusts play their part and all the atomic Knievel cannibals are being fired to mark the start. Everyone must count the dice. Everyone will do time, somewhere down the line. Somewhere down the line worn out slaves are thrown off the cliffs. Somewhere down the line Marcus Antonius slashes his wrists. Somewhere down the line Colonel Qaddafi and Caesar are stabbed twenty-three times to please the believers in war and enslavement, power and payment, suicide bombs on blood splattered pavements, rabid mobs and crucified saviors, turning their cheeks to Christ-like behaviour and slitting their throats for lords of indiscriminate discrimination. Lo and behold, your apocalypse now will thrive. You’ve blown your chance, you’re going down that line. The oceans start to simmer, the sky shatters and falls, the calculating senators are locked up in toilet stalls. Everyone constricts the vice, everyone juices the mice, everyone picks out the lice, and everyone loves to play nice, everyone, everyone everyone will do time somewhere down the line.

Look at how she rocks and rolls, she's coming down. Look at how her hammer falls, she's coming down. See her revolve down the drain, with her washed-out diaries and cheap cocaine. She's coming down, she's coming down, she's coming down, she's coming down. Look at how he bites the strap, he's coming down. Look at how his lungs collapse, he's coming down. Watch him dissolve from within, as they inject away all his mortal sins. He's coming down, he's coming down, he's coming down, he's coming down.   Look upon my buried gold, I'm coming down. Look at all the space I've sold, I'm coming down. Watch how the ozone erupts, as I pile your debt into pickup trucks. I'm coming down, I'm coming down, I'm coming down, I'm coming down. Count all the needless dead, you're coming down. Tweet all the severed heads, you're coming down. This is the price you pay, for the half-starved kids that you left to fate. You're coming down, you're coming down, you're coming down, you're coming down.

Out alone again on Friday night, buried by fluorescent Sheffield lights. Amidst a blur of rumbling crowds and spit, I crawl West Street and try to find a fix. Now is the hour to claim glory and power, now is the time to forget. Mine is the tempest and yours are the spoils in this war to transcend or forget. Super Stan is crying in the dirt. Steroid boy searches for cats to hurt. Baphomet makes Joan of Arc his bride and pumps her up until her skin is tight. Bring down the curtain and shatter the sky, stone me and sweep me aside. Bring me a burden and sell me a bride, for I can’t hold this venom inside. Come see the Broken Man. Try to numb the pain. See me, feel me, love me and steal me. Fool me and fill me with soul; then come back and take it all. Offal explodes beneath sooty feet. Potholes fill with beards and stolen meat. I collapse into a dusty dive and drink until I’m drunk enough to drive. Forget the homeless, remember the fools. Suffer the poets and surrender to tools. Mine is the grail of sabotaged thoughts and yours is the kingdom you’ve loaned. My thoughts are drowned by thumping drum and bass. Some are high and others snorting mace. Hipster fiends force-feed young minstrel queens, with taped-back faces wrapped in skinny jeans. Hard-bodied bores lick the brown, sticky floor and all immolate into yawns. My world starts to cave, it’s just so damned depraved and I must find a way out this place. Come see the Broken Man. Try to numb the pain. Poke me, peel me, judge me and steal me, make your Midas, reversed and drop me off home in a hearse. Insult me and beat me, defeat and mistreat me, make me dependent on you. I can’t get enough of your abuse. So, come steal some more of my youth. Tell me about your great truth and fuck me until I’m no use.

Night after night, the darkness so bright, the air suffocates me. An emotional draught, afraid I’ve missed out, there’s nowhere I want to be. I shiver and quake, the words wither away. As time fades and escapes, I become my mistakes. Oh, why would I be the one that you call, when I’m just a ghost in the dreams of the fall? How can I fly beneath this falling sky? How can I run away from maggots in my brain? And how can I rest these ever-blinkless eyes? How can I comfort you, when all I know is pain? Why would you feel any pity at all, when I’m just a ghost in the dreams of the fall? Day after day, as dreams run astray, my corners haggle and fray. My manic desires alight at the pyre, I’ve never been so afraid. My belly rumbles and spits; the oracles got the shits. As fate slithers and snakes, feelings slam down the brakes. Oh, why would I be the one that you call, when I’m just a ghost in the dreams of the fall? How can I fly beneath this falling sky? How can I run away from maggots in my brain? And how can I rest these ever-blinkless eyes? How can I comfort you, when all I know is pain? Why would you feel any pity at all, when I’m just a ghost in the dreams of the fall?

Sometimes I cry, I need you by my side. And if you love me forevermore, darling, I’ll be yours until this time unwinds. And oh, I’ll lease you catalogue pearls, I’ll buy you Prussian cheese and fitness magazines. And oh, I’ll tie your ego to mine and train your cluttered mind to subside entirely. And how we’ll dance, in those moments I’ve got you in my trance. And oh, I will deliver you back to the Promised Land of first class democracy. And oh, now that you love me too, I’ll put you to good use and watch your colours collide. And oh, if you believe in me, that I can set you free, you know some day I will.   Most night, I’ll stay out and I suspect you’ll have develop doubts. But baby, it’s all in your head, y’all need to lie down and stay scared. We’ll reach salvation in a while, just wait and see. When I want you and when I need you, I suspect you’ll be wanting me too. What fun you will have, eating pills from the palm of my hand, You can stay at home and take good care of me. And oh, I’ll shake your soul to the core. I’ll leave you wanting more, you can share in my disease. And yeah, I’ll answer to every doubt, turn your ideas inside out and leave you weak at the knees. I’ll draw you colouring books and rebuild you piece by piece. I’ll analyse your dreams and teach you how to please. I’ll be your wandering eyes and watch your pornography. I’ll read you self-help books and shepherd you onto me.

Hey there man, let’s stitch those sorry veins up, don’t you know there’s riches waiting to steal? There’s no time to waste, apply this Boudicca paste, let’s head to Leningrad; I’ll take the wheel. With Ostrogothic shields, we’ll smash through Celtic battlefields. Drink this up real quick and sign on the dotted line. Don’t you want to be somebody special? Don’t you want the whole world under your thumb? Don’t you want to party without any heed for virtue? Don’t you want to carry on the Mongol run? Don’t you want a million, hapless harems to wrap their legs around your lonely nights? Don’t you want a brand, new Wagyu beef body to protect your right to destroy, decimate, conquer, fuck and fight? Hey there man, I’ve got a Yournameistan, waiting for you to rule as you wish. I’ll be your ancient bloodline, you’ll be my tongue and eyes, we’ll cook plebeians, my favourite dish. Release the coins and smoke and taste the acid as you choke. Raising hell up to heaven, fulfilling every desire. Don’t you want to tear down Rome and Venus? Don’t you want a swag like Jesse James? Don’t you want to rock this bitch like Genghis Khan, razing continents and blowing out brains? Don’t you want a statue carved in every city? Don’t you want a million miles paved with the heads of every stupid motherfucker who ever dared to cross the right hand of death? Noble Cicero’s speech has declared you impeached, I’m afraid it’s too late for your family. Come take a walk on the plank, I’ll trade your guts for my shank and smear your insides all over history. My friend, you’ve served us well. You have earned your place in hell. You can keep your pain, you’ve nothing left to sell. Don’t you want to prove yourself to your mother? Don’t you want to smother the voices inside? Don’t you want to ride on the backs of apostles? Don’t you want to make them beg for their lives? Don’t you want your very own Colosseum? Don’t you want to set the Argo alight? Don’t you want to build a tower of Babel made of your spoils of war, just before dying a coward’s death? This is mass self-laceration, this is holy consummation. This is rapture’s ovulation, this is bourgeoisie stagnation. This is phallic colonisation, this is masturbatory arbitration. This is cultural redesecration, this is hyperinflating radiation. This is pestilent ego augmentation, this is post-Socratic fetishisation. This is suicide’s self-preservation, this is 11th hour degeneration. This is universal Vietnamisation, this is spiritual deforestation. This trial by fornication, it’s a party situation. This trial by fornication, it’s a party situation. This trial by fornication, it’s a party situation. This trial by fornication, it’s a party situation.