Exposed to a truth we don't know.

The screaming of us in the long revolution

Wreckage inside all that's real. Another bought product, no reality.

Askew Road with bullet proof vows.

Caressing the broken heart of me.

We all love our imperfection.

I'll be watching over you

We'll never see, see the like of you again

PCP - a P.C. police victory; PCP - a P.C. pyrrhic victory.

I wake up with the same spit in my mouth. I cannot tell if it is real or not.

Just sit back in and stop time.

I'm not here

I don't wanna be a man, everyday more numb to agony.

I write this alone on my bed. I've poisoned every room in the house.

Sail into the abyss with me after ending and after belief, after tomorrow after the flood, after ending from below and above.

To sell you a future you may not desire

Ten foot sign in Oxford Street: be pure - be vigilant - behave.

Sold to advertisers, computer execution line. They give and take away, repossess and crucify.

Never stop, never stop, never stop, never, still and lonely like an old, old school photograph.

And 30 years of war to darken all our class

I close my eyes and then I count to ten. Shake some hands and then I feel ashamed.

I'm gonna soak up the sun, I'm gonna tell everyone to lighten up.

Sterile like a line of piss, motherfucker. Review with avant-garde lips; you're just a motherfucker.

German roads, they gave me vision

We blur into images of state coercion. Classified machines die misunderstood.

Transgendered milk containing human protein

There's no hope in the colonies, so catch yourself a lifeline

Put you on a pedestal, put you there just standing still

There is unstoppable salvation to be heard.

What a mess? Cosmetic, polemic. Distinguished by relics.

Body shrugs and says hello, once more.

I convinced myself that I don't walk the line

The way your life just fades away.

In a garden full of locusts pain was a crying man, wrapped in several kinds of skin.

Always, never on my mind. Always, always out of time.

Past made useless and I'm dying now.

I laughed when Lennon got shot.

When they burn so bright but die in flames

These are variants of our times

Art is never modern for art is eternal.

I am the strum and drang, I am the schaden freude.

Slowly the deletion begins, the paragon of virtue, the pinnacle of despair, the apex of denial.

Colossal endless like a marathon. God knows what makes the comparison.

Brutalness, this life is short

We'll never see, see the like of you again

Treason is ambition I want dead procession.

Friends were made for life.

Today a poet who can't play guitar. Tomorrow Steve Ovett has injured his calf.

Need someone to nurse me.

And I sing to myself my civil wars within.