lyrics
the intricately entwined metal plait of the pokey
is a three dimensional celtic design in copper wire
we stole the secret of fire
and taxed god's lighter
with a multi-purpose swiss army knife & side cutters
to hold a blackened slice of steel gauze
to cloud up a UV tube made brown from constant use
a pile of ashes, a mouthpiece (no biro sleeves here)
it's shop-bought company-emblazoned semi-legal paraphanalia
decorated with sticker of ginger bearded lego pirate
trebuchet melange from the rip-thru days
of microwaving B & H and watching eight films a day
with the girl nicknamed after a natural disaster....
where are they now?
ruining stonehenge
for the hippies, pagans, druids and crusties?
have they spontaenously combusted?
can they be repaired with duct tape?
or are they too far gone like the two bongs
accidentally shattered during playfights....?
stale smoke in my windpipe,
it's a musical instrument,
add a keyboard, you're away
use it on your dirty mirror glass and windowpanes
he claimed he could feel his whole lungs resinate...
a sticky toffee-like layer of phlegm
that forms knots
like garden hose left overnight in shed
with the slabs, stubs of candle and damp distorted drumskins
and back then we only had two albums
which we'd play over & over until our neighbours knew
every word of system of a down's eponymous debut and, haha, wu-tang forever...
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