the heat is passing over the heath
into town
we're all going to get it now
beer dried on crusty lips
and toilet roll stuck to shit
colourless television buzzing on
24 hours and still going strong
no decadence shall halt the show
no salty flesh and sullied cunt
the news shall be read by a man in a suit
the news shall be blood and nothing new
and the woman wakes
for fevered rant
"why am I still so ill defined?"
this woman is never satisfied
a rabble rouser trouble causer
the doctors come and take god's daughter
tie her to the sterile table
now we shall cure Eve's disease
remove her lust and make her clean
manual manipulation from the fingers
of organ surgeon trained and able
hysterical paroxysm fills her up
and now you're cured, young lady
and we've had our cut
says the grey surgeon general
you'll feel lighter now

but she just looks terrified


and you all know she will be there again tonight
in front of the buzzing television
draped in skins of alcohol and nihilism
with dandy students of the Sorbonne
eager to rot inside her
and wake up beside her
but they won't know what they've won
until they've lost.