There’s crushed tin cans I never use in my *******.
I’m not one to rummage,
still my gut imparts with my head on this one

A sickened fool, like most self-claimed geniuses
Says it all, like most obsessive heathens
His action followed by the director
Far fetched could mine give mercy on an indecent charm like theirs

I can’t with these cans. If there is another man.
Another man, another man; that same can; yet another man.

Tabloid gives a lazy fact, tatters to what I trusted
Nomadic appearance takes place
What a silly way to end things
Was it down to the cans you’d bring?

I’ve got this new look based on a time I can romanticise from an ethereally far place
Forget how we got here, just look back and know,
WE did it!

my ancestors would love this one,
so if I’m successful,
make sure to tell mum

Can we call myself Axel if I say it’s true enough?
I saw plenty of betterments supply the world with disappointing veils to a commuter’s life;
it’s an anti-climactic fountain of yutes displaying sincerity for a world provided by bloodshed,
propped up by the back-in-my-day’s I slowly find myself metamorphosing towards in inexorable pursuit for keeping up with the baristas lists for conscious arabica.

My ancestors would love this one,
so if I’m successful,
make sure to tell mum

The world has oven-ready deals to roar at anyone infatuated with anything of the old world that isn’t satin or coming out of a smashed around second-hand Orange amp;
it’s relatable innit?
The way I suppress my moves?
The twirl in her compliments to the echelon of your priceless affection
that’s the right spill.
I'd still adjust to a Fowler’s position to stare at the Eiffel Tower at 9,
those corny lights sure inspire me to listen to pink martini one more time.

My ancestors would love this one,
so if I’m successful,
don't tell my mum.

My hands hover his chest when I calm him.
The cast might come off,
a bow would end it all before curtains are closed
a marriage of bonafide circumstance

Where did your thought go? Give it space, take a breath:
cadence resumes, chords progress

Don’t assume I’m in check,
just because
my breath‘s in stead.

He hurls his fouling tongue down the gutters.
What good is finding virtue in another human, no matter who may be the other?
You’ll permeate my imagined sickness, corrected to the bone, for sums do find the day upon thee encrypting the abode.

He is just angered,
overwrought to call
Yet you’ll see nature in their candids, bones and all?

I won't love you with pleads,
Yearned your two cents in thought no more,
Still I seek that finding of you ‘neath one’s breath
Bones and all

The work isn't literary upon revelation of skins and fleshes,
Chequered play mapped out by suffixes of duresses.
Yet I wait
I wander,
Mind beck and call
I wait furthermore
Bones and all.

This situation impending, discretion by nature.
Yet, with lips to your head in darkness, our metaphysical evades any erasure.
Silhouette a projection,
Our hands ne’er not held
Collapse darkened fall
Rest upon my warmed blood,
Bones and all.

Come on honey, let’s look at the flashing lights together

I wish I did this earlier
I can feel the squeeze,
I think of you in Brighton,
This city never puts me at ease

Give me soothers,
Don’t forget I think of you
I’m not gonna stop doing it
All the others can’t give me credit
They couldn’t know in lieu

February’s tides crashed louder
For that record you gave in apology
I don’t want to remember what it’s for
If you ever sought forgiveness
Needn’t try; I live now for you to recluse closely

We weren’t that good were we?
Yet I want to be better
Just find me soon
I’ve missed you forever

Blue eyes at breakfast,
Peach fuzz on my pillow
The hair in my jumpers,
Just to end in struggle

It all ended whilst we were both lying
Picture what I am no longer realising
I ****** it all off for a breath;
Just to collapse at your beautiful edge.

My customer Chris walks into pubs where his mates blink when he arrives.
Had every ******* his radar by the time his Pravha and his hand tie.
Doesn't pique when he asks how you are; eyes busy afar, pondering up some poor bird at the other end of the bar.
Wakes up to £80 daily bills of *****, goes in again for attempts at pulling tight.
Blondes ask why he's a creep, brunettes shiver as his arm comes to sweep.
He's got nothing to do with me, yet I still pour him 568.3.

He always gets his way,
All I ever do is say stand away.
He'll never not get his way,
It's only his world at the end of the day.

Ex military Scotsman but he's never seen highlands.
Stuck in Streatham while his wife's calling another man.
He takes it out on the nearest pair of ears,
**** me mate just shed the odd tear.
You'd be less of a **** if you were less of yourself,
Don't even bother saying it, he drinks himself deaf.

He always gets his way,
All I ever do is say stand away.
He’ll never not get his way,
I already can’t stand what he’s gonna say.

If you’ve got shoulders he’s grabbing them;
A pulse; he considers ******* it.
An admin job? Seek requiem;
go back to his it’ll be a night completely spent.
There’s no saving the child inside he fronts,
to give the facade of being less of a grunt.
Chokeslamming jägers and sticking noses up at wine,
until his pawned-off Audemars strikes 1:30 and alarms ring for a line.
His favourite woman doesn’t exist yet, he says he hasn’t met her.
His favourite bloke is a celibate Tory that's somehow doing better.

He always gets his way,
I told him to stay away.
He’ll never not get his way,
This is definitely my last day.