Sunday 4 December 2011

Douillet Tété (a Tété)

The blackbird it screams bullshit,
It's black eye as wide as hell,
Gnawing on meaty bones,
No stories he had to tell.

This cloud of thick vagueness,
It stutters foggy dense,
And that catholic guilt, you spoke of,
In this new age, is past tense.

So open your beautiful blue eyes,
And see the cronies in the midst,
As they're the ones who are dining,
You can see them, dribbling, pissed.

Do you know who you are now?
Can you see what they do?
For those friends that surround,
Don't want you for you.

So keep your royalty,
To lavish on those you crown,
As the ones that kiss your arse,
Are the ones dragging you down.

You're funny, and shy and silly,
And it's all stuffed in nice and tight.
For you're the boss my friend,
Keep it real, boy, keep it in sight.

So return to when you were extra;
Alone, real and pure, 
For that was when the melody,
Lacked the obvious formulaic score.

Listen to your heart, 
As that will speak in honesty,
You don't need borrowed middle eight,
Secure; your admirable modesty.

I hope it works out for you, 
I truly am an admirer.
But watch yourself, illustrated, 
And avoid the twisted that expire. 

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