Home Town Blue.
There is a home town, dimmer than London
Fat from history, belted in roads
Drowned in canals, raise a toast to drying concrete
The Lunar Society losing light, raise a toast to burning embers
A toast to our heart, stuck with tar
A toast to our country, only for winners
A toast to the future, in shades of grey
A toast to England, to Birmingham
It’s abandoned child
The smoke blackened sheep.
Your Civilisation Is Just An Aesthetic.
Your civilisation is just aesthetic
Your society just a trend
Your high streets and swag tourniquets
Muted before the storm
Stumbling numb towards a full stop
That will be burnt into our foreheads
Your lens is fogged
Your tongue tipping ash on the pavement
Your bones waiting to be painted
Your best suit is rotten
Your civilisation is just an aesthetic
Applying pressure to a cut
That in time will flood with colour
Whether you like it or not.
Untitled Weather Report.
Every year they tell me it will be better when the colour of the sky changes
That it’s just the way the fog hangs low over the pool table
That makes the balls look like they are travelling through time
Even so we stock up on coffee and milk for the mornings
And strap our bodies in wool, tight like wounds
Keeping our blood close
We roll our cigarettes quickly, the rubbing of our fingers causing
Friction enough to spark them off
So we save on matches
And the ice keeps our shoes hard held together
So we need not venture to the main streets
That lay themselves in swag and disco balls
And rustle with the anxious sound of money.