Oh absolutely babe, it’s false as fuck

going to hell over and again

for the same sin, a shakey etch-a-wretch

to make me sorry, for the mess I made

by trailing the piss pouring down

from mount kingsford, or queen Whispin

vomiting flower shards, fly vindictiveness

could by a curse bring a ruler

to ruin in days, smolder soup embers

into brushfires up top, for I am

a nation in revolt, crowded with gin joints

whiskey hovels and spark vans

inspiration clearing, I will be born again

or we will if you want, but you must behave

as one of us has to, to be obedient

and imperialistic, but it’s just business