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