it's nothing new to me
but each time
it feels like shit
it's as if the heavens have opened up
like they were supposed to
and dark words
from the angry gods are pouring out
like acid rain
and now, after this long long trainride
jostling with sweaty people in rags
who look like poverty is supposed to
poets, students, jobbers, broads
shitters - i'm talking to you now.
do you even fucking care?
well, back to the arms of Bacchus then.
the skies are rotting
the sharks are watching me
the tigers are dead
and there's no one else.
i spit at the skies
as i scratch my back
i cower before the sharks
i weep for the tigers
and i am indifferent to your indifference now.
to hell with the rest, then!