Dirt and filth
Lie in pornographic streets
And I lie in my home
With nothing but thoughts.
The wickedness of Britain
Has put a gun to our head,
A sermon to God
Before we are dead.
The streets start to crowd us,
We are covered in soot,
People jump from buildings,
A hangman’s rope in a room.
As our bodies are thinning,
Our bones showing through
My one possession
Is a stolen pair of shoes.
The government has us crucified,
A crown of thorns,
Our blood shall be a river
Where no one can cross.
If we had the guts,
Energy and strength
Guns would be our masters
In our own rebellion.
To hell with the government
Who have stolen our lives,
My city is a concentration camp
Patrolled day and night.
The key to our freedom
Would be the death of Thatcher
Murdered by a terrorist or street observer.
The countryside has us dried up,
The animals are being slaughtered,
It is meat for the rich
Even less for the poor.
The warning signs of treachery
Have us running
For our pockets are empty
Prostituted for money.
I will poison myself
Before I am thirty
Because my life is lifeless,
My life is dirty.
For my life is
A cartoon comic strip
And I am purchased
For a few English pence.