Moping about
Whats the point of anything
I have to make some up
But that's sometimes not good enough

It falls apart, the whole endeavour
Why bother? Alone or with another?
Relish in the sweetness of shadows
It's a lovely fact of life
The myth it eclipses true meaning
Merely hides that vacant feeling

Then you sit down to reach the truth
Of education and soul and art
Then you look up and realise
All of these gifts were self created
You took them yourself and inundated
These frames with your hopes and dreams
Ones shared via books mags and screens

You don't know what the bloke was thinking
When he wrote his book with a purpose
What can you do other than
Take it within the scope of your own mirage
Parallels with theirs seem real, but all it is
Is you preemptively declaring what these words and sentences refer to, and then miraculously identifying with them

Oh its no use saying get on with it
You either do or you don't
Just days spent yearning for the eventual propulsion of inertia

Have a poo out my bum into your bum and one big poo in our bums and tug of poo
Never forget the fate of poo in no mans land saved us from the german bum
Bit of the beautiful game having fun have to run to the bushes and have a poo
Next day back in the dugouts having a poo on seargant poo
Having a poo out of your bum which is farting
Farting poo which is diarrhea and poo at the same time
And pooing and it smells pooey and the toilet is full of poo so you cant poo in it
I want to poo but I have no poo in my bum so I cant poo
I want to poo on you and into your mouth and theres poo in your mouth
And you can taste poo and it tastes like poo and you go to the toilet and have a poo
And then the poo grows arms and legs and climbs out the toilet and has a poo in the toilet
And the poo grows arms and legs and climbs out the toilet and has a poo in the toilet
And then the poo falls in the toilet and you flush the poo away but you need to wipe your bum so you go for a poo in the trenches then wipe your bum and leave it there
The toilet was a shoebox and its full of poo and you need a poo but the trench is so full of poo
That it's just a great big poo, the whole trench is just a poo
And you're inside the poo and you are now a piece of poo inside the poo
And you eat all the poo and now you are the poo
You are the trench and men come and dig you out
You are not dead though, you are a trench
Made out of poo
There are worms crawling in you and fertilising you, you are poo
And there are men wondering why it smells its becuase youre poo

All my pictures
Are they running away?
Only a gap, a distance of vacance
No picture around in the spot it were once found
The Relics one came back
But the others have turned their back on me
I can't breath, the visitors turn up
See zilch, farewell they said.
I cried, embarassment came over me
A certain fervour of unstable self confidence, capsizing like my heart
The millions who view my site, crushed
My psyche crushed, a crowd of spectators visualised
They never ran away, they were never even there.
It were all underneath my hair.
Despair
Yeah