But isn't this the point where something's gotta give?
Huh, me? Oh no, not me, I just wanna live
up and over, on the run,
looking to the future down the barrel of a gun, void,
no beginning, no end, nothing to break, nothing to mend.
Yup, that's me call on the devil and pay the price
while another whizzbang takes to the air, cutting a slice
just another bloody mess not to be dealt with nah, leave him be.

And now a gloom through dark portals, call it night,
or call on the moon, full-risen, bright,
or flare droning the noxious air,
exposing that which better would be hidden.
Yeah, all a'squeeze, shove'n'driven,
us mortals are drawn out of darkness,
given dampers before we're born
(diapers come later gag me with a spoon'),
or burst the banks that Holy Virgins may be dammed.
Oh, shut the fu
Yeah, well thanks for nothing,
but hang around some and I shall unveil thee the more,
destroy the cringe-making whinge of your gentility the fester and the sore.
Ayee, see? I am come before thee
because I'll have none of it not I.
Dial triple nine and I'm Abram outa time,
pre-packed, post free the pleasure's mine.
Yeah, I work hard, frenzied, cloistered, clustered,
all a'boisterous that the arts be better mastered gainst predisposition.
But surely, tis thou who came before me?
Then beget me, piss in my face and wet me.
Piss all over and then forget me.
Aha, nous sommes les enfants des parapluies.

Copyright: ROUGH TRADE PUBLISHING
Writer(s): Penny Rimbaud