I bet you wouldn't put those tattoos on your gravestone

Not that's it's any of my business,
But you look like an idiot,

And I heard you say that girls name and it ain't the same as the one on your neck as your necking today,

Is it mate,

And I don't mean to come across boring,
But I'm sure your mothers name ain't Tory either.

Necks covered in angel wings,
and misdemeanours;
I hope there's someone watching over you to see you make those mistakes.

It looks pretty cool though - make no mistakes.

But I can see through your thick rimmed spectacles.

Making a spectacle of yourself when you can clearly see.

A small package bugling through your skinny jeans
And of course Dr Martens,

And a quiff that's bleached.

Farewell flower child,
Don't look so amazed and glare,
When people stare at you and your down right ridiculous tattoos,

On the platform after me that's a par for you,

I was only passing through,
With naked skin,
Untouched by ink.

You would think I didn't want to leave a mark in this world were in.

in a night, where the moon and the ragged star
give way to bell chimes of a chinese
horoscope, and the knuckle crunch
of neighbour's fences rattle,
in name of the wind made craft,
one the bullion among the million,
the acre of earth among the harvested sized-up,
too the tooth-pulling ardency,
whether russia or a satellite, beyond the iron grip,
in the richly wed grip of lost value of gold,
kept secret for the soviet sway,
to keep iron the soviet gold, at a loss
for a gain... each to his cold...
quo vadis? qua vecto, vecto non locus,
circus etc.
(where are you going?
as going, there's no place of origin
to return to, circling on & on).

The look in a child's eye,
Can make any trial in this life,
Smile.