Thursday, 5 November 2009

Word Of Advice

What is a word of advice?
Is it something of a warning?
Or of how to live your life

Words act like guidelines of how to live ones life
But hold on where the hell was mine
As I fell disfuctionalised life
Falling between the lines
With the tick tock not quite right in the head
Meaning all conversations had to be had with me in a mediated state
Engaging with me in a dream like manor
Because all sense of reality was to scary for me
I had to be the king of my own realm
I know that I had heavy dreams
Of who I wanted myself to be when I stick on a CD
Pressing play screaming on my Mapex V5 clattering agressive beats
Trying to shake off mental issues
Of the tittle tattle name calling coming from my school
Dawning In me faking an illness
Taking in security of Dub Wars screams
Or Skunk Anansies wails
Genereating a sense of of fear and social parranoia that would domminate
Making me un easy in parties or gatherings
This made me scared of the outside world
Because learning issues made me confused

What is a word of advice?
Is it something of a warning?
Or of how to live your life

You see when the guidelines of life were being set
I dont think anyone could predict
What I am going to write about next
You see just after turning 20
I suddenly fell ill and so very deadly
Shivering and shaking like dialated alchoholic on the crave
What I am going to write about is the effective death of me
A rotten appendage and 6ft blunder
from the doctors putting me under
Causing me to fight for every breath
My liver nearly left and that would have been me snuffed out
Without any exspansive life experiences
The casualty of life began to crash down around me
Loosing 3 days in Coma like state
Due to a mis caclution on the anesthetics
Meaning that my muscles tensioned with the flash of light
Bighting onto the air tube
I very nearly drowned with my stumach split wide open
Awakening from my sleeping state to struggle
Coughing and hacking up blood to grasp breath
As my family stood on by with relieved looks stuck on their
As I had come back to conciousness
To spend Nightmarish days and nights
Having tormenting dreams split of psychotic realitys
As Morphine and 5 penicilins was slipping through my body

What is a word of advice?
Is it something of a warning?
Or of how to live your life

In the guide lines it is harsh to to have a brush with death
But I had a double slap in the face of life
When a dear friend passed away a mear couple of months after my final desperation
A black cloud flew down as he collapsed from and anyuerism in his head
Causing him to bleed out red and slumber comatosed till dead
Leaving behind a family lodging in my parents pride
That were soon to be sowered By the sounds of angry voices
Smashing plates that began to rattle against the walls
Because daddy had a soft spot for the young widow and the sweet little children
Because he saw was something he used to have
As life had become stale for Mum and Dad
So Mum being Mum exploded
And removed the widow and the Kids from their roofs and lodgings
causing what ever support to cappitulate into local hate

What is a word of advice?
Is it something of a warning?
Or of how to live your life

I suppose the message I am trying to get across
I s that just because my life is different
Does not mean it is any greener then another persons life
Its just that I have a different set of problems
Like having a love life that is non existant
Because sometimes I struggle with knowing how to be with other people
On what terms should I relate to others?
Especially with out drawing heads of steam
Because I find it frustrating and extremly alienating at times
Just wanting to say hello is almost like a mission impossible
Without me being dwarfed by this inflatable figure I hide behind
Maybe I have social and sexual frustrations that I take out on myself
Because drink and drugs dont fir with me
The whole house party scene serves to intimidate me
Which is frustrating when you see smiling faces
And you know you dont fit in

What is a word of advice?
Is it something of a warning?
Or of ho to live your life

Sometimes I still have nightmares
And people play me as crazy
Because I do not relate to people as easy as a simple as 1, 2, 3
Because of having these mental complexs
Playing me from behind this skin
As flash backs haunt this head
Hellucinations of the torchings coming back
Flashing instincts making me human
As conversations of a serious nature and emotional states
I could communicate was with the pen and paper
Leaving around lyrical notations
Of what I was playing up in my thoughts
And this would bring open conversations
Is that what you are feeling son is that waht you are really feeling?

What is a word of advice?
Is it something of a warning?
Or of how to live your life

I have learned from living in the countryside
Words can be the deadliest of weapons
As vocal desicrations have crossed my paths
As locals collapsed like a jigsaw puzzle
Picking up the pieces with an empty shell
Feeling like we have a hex to burn against my name!

Late Night In Queens Square

Late Last night I was sat on the Park bench in Queens Square
Just stairing off into the dawn chorus
With a sweet head resting on my shoulders
I can feel a peeling charm
As I wrapped an arm around
Twitching with a hopefull sense of security
As a warmth travelled out
I staired at bewildered faces of friends and passers by
Jay Birds head wrested on my chest
As her spanish friend wittered on with glee
And then there were two random scotish men
And my friends from the Academy
Who were drugged up on drunken debauchery
Mad cap Micky was on one of his sprees
Ranting and raving as I coverted Jay Birds head with a sense of warmth
A bit like an unstrung harmony
Twinkle around that made me humm
I could feel ceremonious melodies
I felt touches tickled each other
Looking down upon her brown her warm brown hair
And well hidden french accent
Which onlt tilted occaisionally through her drunkeness
She said she hated having and accent
As it made her feel to much of an outsider
For the marketing trade that she wast studying at UWE
Upon the parting touches I felt a warmly glow
As she said that she liked me
And I told her what I thought of her Beautiful tones
Just regreting letting go without exchanging numbers
I just took a stiff breath of warmth
Just pausing to think
There's another one for the softness box
Along with a million others that have passed before me
I hope I can remember her for next time
But memmory is something that confuses me
Sometimes I have the memmory span of a deranged goldfish
Because of all these people that I meet on many nights out
Just remembering one thing!
I always have a softness for those who give warm hugs best

Monday, 28 September 2009

Toilet Rhyme

When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow

Im sorry if my rhymes are constipated
I dont mean to be too depictating
They just come to me when I am sat on the Squatter reattling my trotters
Oh no here we gowith one huge humph
And guess what? I am sweating like John Doe
Swine squealing like a blocked up passage way
Heres where damage is done of holding it in
Building swill in the stenching feeling
For the four hours waiting
With the constant bursting anticipation
Of needing to unblock yourself
But holding on as you march from the otherside of town
So you can rush to sit on your thrown
And yell out Timber
Pushing it out of your laurrels
Whilst grunting and Growning
Oh what a feeling

When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow

Sometimes I have trouble with diehorea
And so my words come out fast and unclear
As I am sitting on the golden arears
With a wet wibbling thing coming out of my arse
Making a warm sloppy feeling in my undergarms
Generating a pong that pours out of nearly every song
A bit like flipany grammer boiling on Piles
As the hole rumbles ready to blow dark thick chunks
Producing something that looks like a black haddock lake
And a smell that is quite clearly opake
For goodness sake we are going to break
cry my house mates who are quite clearly Irrate
As they had been waiting for a while
I cant help it
Just blame it on my piles
which is making me bleed a rampant vile red
And slapping my arse cheeks raw as hell
When you Rhyme you got to let it go with the flow

Thursday, 24 September 2009


The human appology is something that forever daunts me
As try to appologies for my very existance
To make you make your faces turn with an ugly sight
Son you are not dressed in plastic
So you are never going to be quite right

Thats why they labeled me special and try to push me out of sight
Well thats what the doctors nearly did with success in flight
Right they screamed lets put him under with a 6ft blunder
Because we dont want a boy with un Ken like existance
Squwarked a bunch of identicats with notes ringing for teeth
And a careless pastiffe apart from lets lock up all outsiders tones
You son you spastic come here throwing me crumbs kicking me in the face
Your a fucking disgrace they lauded
As everything I try just gets laughed at
Hahaha son you must be joking We never want to touch with a ragged thing
Stinging words coming from singing voices
Trip stumble blunder take away tears
But fought back from the dogtors blunders
So I am here to slap you in the face with broken jeers
Look out there I dont give a shit about your hair
And prostheticly beautiful you are
Because lets just face we are all really just retards
Especially to the point of in order to make statements
You have to copy one another!

Thursday, 17 September 2009

How Can I Be A Power

I sit behind an empty screen to add an ovuer
To a near tendril sense of desperation
Screaming out in a lone time voice
I need a savoury truth so I can sink my teeth into a slice of reality
Serving it up with a creme fresh clinkering
Falseness is always the way to go forward
So I try not to look at myself with any self conviction
That i may not carry out tasks in a necessary fashion to succeed
Son you will just stumble to your knees
Screams the spokes hitting chambers

I cant help but feel that every time is useless
In trying to fit in with the broken clothes
They tear us all from making a collage of insecurity
How we all break into the same forms of life
Apart from being one of those that exceeds expectations
I am lost in walls of wafted voices
Charmonade insurections of reputability
To count on in the social seconds of need
Please bare source to those who inflict you
With broken skins crackling in the movement

Shall we inflict you with the modern man moto
Of get it whilst one can to the cand on the eye
Break out a sweat when your name is called
For trial and duty of how you must succeed
Indebted to bewilderment voices souring
How can I be a power when I cant open the door for my voice
Power just shuts me up boxing my voice into a corner
Confused and beffudled to be left alone
Sulking with those outside tones
How can i be a power when there is no thorn on my rose

By Jeffrey Johns @ 17/9/2009

Monday, 17 August 2009

The Chateau Wine List

Hey Waiter, waiter what is the best wine on your wine list?

Well sir we have the Chateau Rosie
That will make you go red an pofaced
Like as if you are on the public display

Theres the chateaux Faux Pass
Which is best served with a lardy dah
And false pretences that you can put upon in faces

Theres the Chateau Cordon Plonk
After a tipple will make you go all skronk
And act like a complete plonk

Theres the Chateau Cordon Blah
Which will make you look like you have been
In a blood red spa all singing la dee dahs

Le courvey en vie en rose
Which will make think that you are french
Pose with a pouting tones of look at me

Theres tha Chateau dupree
That will make you splee
and celebrate trable tops with glee
Oh look at me

Theres the Chateau rustic
Which has a bit of an upper lip taste
and leaves you speaking in high ways
like as you can pass for an upper social class

Theres the Duvone De White Ace
Something cheap and fluffy
makes you all roughy and duffy
turns you like a turd in a dress
in disgrace

or you could go for the tripple spree
Of the Courdon du plee
there are so many choices you see!

By Jeffrey Johns 17/8/2009

Friday, 14 August 2009

Little Sparrow

The Vulture in society is casting his eye on me
As I stand scared in a cage
Hearing the racheting of his giant claws aginst my metal cage
And voices are swaying round and a round
Just dont make at sound
I can hear them screaming
When trying to open the doors
Whilst menopause stream on out
And frustrations building away
Lifes just a brick wall
I can hear myself crying out
Nobody wants to listen to this voice
With the Vulture spinning around
In the Wings ruffling
As peaople are questioning my worth

Because I know I made way
For a friend to make the grave
And every day I hear these voices of blame enslave
You my son they would scream at me
You are not worth petance or pitty
They spit with an undignified sence
Of talking down to me and my family
Because I survived a 6ft blunder
Before he went under
Only months was the distance of time
One shock shook another one into action
Like a double sided slap that labled me
The sparrow is who I be

I could feel a little hammlet
Want to burn and blight me
As a stabbing lay blunt on me
Burn my name they would scream
With those ruly tones of authority
Treeting it like a witch hunt
Burning all the proffercies
Not making it clear to anyone
But just only me
For these voices I at times fear
Will get the better of me
The little sparrow that I see
That little sparrow is me

By Jeffrey Johns 14/8/2009

Thursday, 30 July 2009

The Listening Post

Lost in the vacuous space of of time
As rough shoddern guitars
Rang like rappids through my ears
With the CD spinning
Creating a whir in the background
As the machine skipped and jumped
From track to track

Clunking up the numbers
As I close my eyes
To see colours and shapes
Screaming Daughter of a Looney
At the hieghtend volume of my voice
Causing Joe public to look
Almost freakishly in my direction

As I thrust and moved to the beat
Hands flapping with pecrussive feels
With 16th beat syncupations
Chanted voices wailing through the headphones
That sweated with a snuggness around the ears
My springy head and neck jerked about
As I saw shapes streched past me

I was completely oblivious
To the growing que behind me
As people turned into savaged dogs
With maingy teeth
All wanting to listen to audio products
As I was lost in a sonic wilderness

With my ears locked firmly
As one extracting wail
Lead into another foot stomping riff
The record store clerk poke me angrily
But my ears where find it hard to escape
But his near Nazi styled prodding
And screaching Look son there are other people here

I looked around and saw gangrinous Monsters
That replaced human beings
Making me humble
And turning me into a quiet soul
As I whimpered a soft sorry!

By Jeffrey Johns 30/7/2009

This is Art

Splintered into cold showers
Looking at the hounding walls
Screaming at me every waking hour
Like eyes looked like they were
Staring through barbed wire
Cutting against the skin
Like Jesus to a wire

Burning a reef above his head
And the ropes tied behind his back
Your suppoesd to be an artist
Screw voices tightening taps in my head
I looked out with my eyes burning
A rough rugged shrugged blue

I am an artist
I just don't want to follow you
And your identicate fits
With your identicate Tracy Emin rip offs
And stuck up false presentions
Of how we are to identify with ourselves
Without words rippling of corrections
To be made and how games are meant to be played

With the snob gobblins and ta ta parades
Screaming yippeee yo yippee yay
What a fantastic display
Of plastic hearted emptiness
Said with the sneers
With an una toneable sense of jeering

This is Art with a deadpan certification
You can't bend the rules
Like the the box you have as walls!

By Jeffrey Johns 30/7/2009

Sunday, 26 July 2009

God Knows

My friends god knows everything
He even knows the truth about Mary
He can tell all the final scores
1-0 to the city a wind assisted debarkle
So put your pounds on the bet fair
And take all your winnings
to spend sporradically on wild eccentric things

He knew how to make all the leaders sing
Just wisper in their ear
That there is a new relligion here
He said with sence of austerie insencerity
And just sit back here and watch the action
With me on my Plaza luminated TV
You see all the best action from me

Isn't it fun when the rights wings
Hang and maime whilst the tyranicles bomb and blame
Whilst Hollywood lies deep inane
For scientology is their game
And what was that about Mormonism
Otherwise known as the Donny Osmand syndrome
Oh yeah I spiked his plate with something nasty

You see sometimes its fun being me
When you know everything
He would say bending over gingerly
Maybe some day you can be a marta to
Bit like my supposed son
That people keep on going on about

The thing about god is
That he always knew what he was on about
Ask me a question and I will give
It will be the truth
Even if it is not what you wanted to hear
Most people just twist it in their ears
Believe what they want

I Had true control then there would be no right wing fundamental peeves
Lioke the Vatigan which is lined with sleaze
Of how we control humans by spreading STD's

God is really a lager lout
And a lazy bumb who does not like to shout
Let it out, lets twist their minds
play noughts and crosses with Maries mind
To make martas of Jesus kind
He often scoffs down a vindaloo
Or a Madhar Jaffrey that he invented

and many othe quite disgusting habbits

By Jheffrey Johns 26/7/2009

Thursday, 23 July 2009

birds in the cage

What you looking at me for
Screamed the sparrow to the Hawke
His eyes were wild and frightening
as he opened to squwark
I'm gonna pick you off
With talons rattling
Leave you in the starving quater
While I rattle and swoop
With victorious coops to prisons you

The birds in the cage,
The birds in the cage
The birds in the cage is me

The Hawke is society
Looking at me through the bars
of this flesh that sticks to my bone
as he screams out at the sparrow
I'm gonna get you alive
But the sparrow put up resistance
Building like a brick wall
As every breath the Hawke became societies Big bad Wolf
Screaming Little Pig, Little Pig
Why dont you come out and play?

The birds in the cage,
The birds in the cage
The birds in the cage is me

The sparrow tweeted out no way no way
I aint gonna come out and play
Because I'll know youll beat me again and again!

by Jeffrey Johns 23/7/2009

Saturday, 18 July 2009

Just anothe Night in The Safari Zoo

I miss the Wild life
wehen I walk home late at night
seeing 1000's of gorilas pumping for a fight
After they have had another splendid Friday night
Of cheap shafted alchopops
And being driven home by the cops
Those 40 year old bints bloated like balloons
Staring at me as if I was a loon
For not going to their saloon
Full of Orange peeled skins
And making myself look like
I had come out of a toxic waiste bin
yeah but thats supposed to makes us sexy
yeah but that really does perplex me
As to why you think it would be sexy
To have a slap on personality
As the daily grinds hits the rails
For a bit of slap and fickle
As the men gaupe like baboons from the local zoo
At the you know who
With their biuts hanging out like Brussle Sprouts

Just another night at the Safari zoo
Bumbling along with the you know who

I miss the sounds of the blairing sirens
The classy tones of 'Ello sexy
And look there's Jesus
Come screaching out from gaggling hags
Looking like abused, torne and shragged hand bags
With the men draging their knuckles on the ground
Making gargantuan sounds of apes
As they pound around
With all the intelligence of tarzan
With no space for thought in the brain
Or cans that they have in their hands
Wangling their wongers
As all space for intelligence drifts on out
As the larger lagers drift on out
And control their rotting spouts
Oh yes here louts shout it out boys
We are all girls toys
They said all tuffed up and the wronge waye up

Just another night at the Safari zoo
Bumbling along with the you know who

By Jeffrey Johns 18/7/2009

Feed the World and Geldoffs Girls

Feed the World and Geldofs girls

Living on a diet of Meth amphetimines and white powder
Bourne from the rocks and shed together
A peerless sprog of Dearly departed
Mother and father died for one another
Take one poor miss advataged youth
Who was brought up in disasterous rich upbringings
Of being a Geldoff Sibbling
To be thrown down with the common classes
As the flash, flash of Ok magazine
What a public hoob
After stumbling down the nearest tube
With a blearing nose and an attitude
That is quite simply spoilt and rude

Feed the World and Geldofs girls

So how should we do it?
I know we we'll screw it
We'll do a campaigne inouter Mongolia
Where people barely know her
So we can get the orphan to rattle and humm
Like desperation scum
And shout out save our Pixie
Save our Peaches
So they can live a life of luxury
And watch us starve and plea
Taxi for three they would scream
Take us away to Camden and gleam
They would say stairing into the seren
Of rustic shacks and dusty floors
Lets swap this place with plastered floors
And cheap shags
Where they can act like celebrity whores

Feed the World and Geldofs girls

I mean they cant help it
Being desperate that everybody felt it
To see their poor withering withdrawn eyes
Make everyone cry and mop sad tears
Oh look at poor diamond
As they plea on Children in need desperate and weeded
As they both cry we are all needed
Well let look at allo the good work they did?
I mean who did you screw?
you, you,you and you
As they point out all the indie slews
With their skinny thin brittle looks
And bones that snap and hook
Oh what good you have done by being a pointless bum

By Jeffrey Johns 18/7/2009

Wednesday, 15 July 2009

The Application

Today is the day I apply myself
Not for the wanting
Of things blowing up in my face
Because I have a lack selling
Abilities that I come across
Within myself
There is this voice that in my head
That self doubt will always rule
And I don't want it no more

So here goes the cieled letter
Across the space of screens
For you to read in the great seren
The occupancy that you have
To choose my skills
Or ignore me
Because I wont fit in
To your picture frame

But give keep on trying
Hit your head until you fit right in

The shape is something
You don't want to see
As I apply myself with whiff of honesty
And send it off packaged ruffled
To be unfurled
And drawn to pieces again

Tuesday, 14 July 2009

Undefind Love

I sit on down at the computer
Looking at my gun
As everyone seems to be jumping up
Popping up and down like fun
From the dirty dozens
Of the faces that they pull
with the screaming of the come on over
Watch me play with my pride
I will be the hearts lonely fool

I toy with myself
To undefind love

I see the eyes
Screaming more from my action
As appendages bend themselves
Into one another
With enthusiastic screams
Of those wanting to be pleased
With a confidence they drive from their bodies
As tongues twirl in twilight

I toy with myself
To undefind love

Bodies rise sore up and down
With the sweat drowning
Off of their browes
As they know they are being watched
by those with the one eyed loaded guns
and lonely hearts
To fire out the amunition
Of another empty man
He only seems to get love from his hands

I toy with myself
To undefind Love

By Jeffrey Johns 14/7/2009

Friday, 10 July 2009

All I Want Is A Warm Heart

Life is uninspired
Each Breath feels lik a chore
As my heart clunks like a heavy heaving machine
The Coggs slowly grind with slow creeks
As the eyes lure with insipped images
Of peoples faces gurning at me

I bwould scream at the man sat opposit me
Looking sullen at me
He asks whats going on in my head?
My thoughts are buzzing around my head
As I gear up my voice
To try and project it out
Stumbling over my words

I try to rattle out my thoughts
Not wanting to lie to the man
For costing me arms and a legs
To listen to me
My falling voices lear with a nervouse energy
The man swipes away with his ears
And points of view are spinning me
Trying to trip me into something
Of a possitive menta state

But I know that when I am outside
My slate will be wiped into the cold dark dusk
Even if the sub is shining
I still can't see it
Because there are so many clouds in the way
I spoke with a heart choking frustration
As I talk of smiles intimidating me
Like shody clowns from the IT factory

The man cringes looking at my face
An airy scaredness trickles down from his eyes
I don't know why I am mentally in this place
Like a weary bird in a cage
Staring at the blank spaces in this world
A cold hearted mess in this life

All I want is a waRM heart in this world to try and hug me

I find myself looking at groups from the outsiders face
The happy chatting voices press press alienation
Haunting words in my head
I explained to the man
How I was better off Dead
Son I can see your voice is drowning down low in the muddy waters
But please don't go you have everything to grow
Just remember th smiles
But I aint seenh them for a while
God I used to remember Iused to love a smile
but now I can barely twinge my face
Without a worthless distate around me

By Jeffrey Johns 10/7/2009

Monday, 6 July 2009

Burn the faces of the stars

In the cold mid winter
I sweat with shivers
Pouring out of my bed
All the time the blank box
Is feeding me useless garbage
Steaming out those monsters
From under my bed
Haunting me with caffiene dreams
Soaking in the nightmares
My Eyeballs stewe in constant wiring

My Eyes burn in the face of the stars

Wet drips of tear dust
Hang from my lids
Forming bushy bags
Growing into my sockets
Pumping viegns against
These glassy eyeballs
Staring like gob stoppers
At the tic toc clock
The radio hisses and buzzez
With the late night tittle tattle
Of small time conversation
I feel the fires burn into my head
For sleep is lacklustre
I am falling under daybreak again

My eyes burn with the faces of the stars

The piercing lights
Slatter through the glass
In hypnotic soundscapes
Burning up the fever staind shivers
Pouring waters onto the bed
Kindered with stenches
That run off my back
Like monsters in the night
That slabber my teeth

by Jeffrey Johns 7/7/2009

Sunday, 5 July 2009

Do the Oppression

Wake up and make yourself something your not
For today you have to fit in to get ahead alive
Theres nothing for those outside of our ring
As we are tightening the ropes
Exclusion zonesbecome bigger for those who can not cope
The borders of disibility become the grey pits for humanity
How can we be fighting for the same scraps of society
To take some money and break somebody
Down to the edges of this person
And within his personality
May lay the seed of something beautiful
But no one will see it because
Who will be there when I flaunt it
Hit it up and Laud it
But knowingt your going to totally ignore it

So Do the Oppression Baby
And take away your shine

Take away the glint inyour eyes
And replace it with something a little bit flat
Creativity is not encouraged
Because it does not ring with the monopolies
Of pounds and pennies that sting the publics purses
Wriming with the meat of what we need to eat
So lets change our our personality
Into polstychrine idiocrassy
So we can wait alonglines to be pecked and pushed into designs
Outsiders won't ever fit in
So we will chuck them right in the bin to be discarded
Don't let them litter this place
So we must keep them out of site
Even if they cheer our names
We must hide it all with shame
So lable us and Dont be scandlous

So Do the Oppression baby
An take away your shine

whatever glitters that is gold
Is forced onto to be sold
A bit broken and bold
So tone down your voice so it fits in with the ears around you
Don't stand on creates to speak
Because it will only make you weak
Nobody will listen to this high pitched squeaking

by Jeffrey Johns

I am Tea Bag

I am Tea Bag all fine and swift
At the begining of the week
Like a fine mans darjeeling or Earl Grey
Swooping on the Victorian Display
Quaffing and Quaying
As by the end of the week
I tend to sower like a dodgy smart price tea
With felt falling to pieces
Like a cheap PG Tips
Falling out for the mucky builders
And frumpy towns ends
And not so much the upper class trends
Or those in trends of the floating leaves
Herbs floating in gold blends
Of Rich flavoured brain cells do decend
As I wake up almost new every morning
To be battered against the edge of a cup
Straining every last molocule of my 200th of a brain cell
As they float around in warm water
To colour it a feverent Brown
Rosehip Red or Roobosh dead
All to end up with mud inflicted crustiness
With Ponchos of White Ridiculed mess
Oi your a Tea Bag at best!

Tuesday, 30 June 2009

Little Miss Sunshine

little Miss Sunshine Opend the doors
For life with smiles so full
As she just tapped away on the edges of a tin
Marked Creme bojaree
She said sweet swaree
Come here darling day
And I will tap on your heart
With the pitter of rain drops as
I say come and stay

She smiles at me and dances away
With a certain step of repartee
And the lips on her face
curl with flexing glee
Flinching only with the sparing of looks
As Summers got her hooks
And her crooks
Summer does make me smile
as hse unfurled her white teeth

Pulling on these heart strings
As little miss sunshine
Dances under the rainbow
tearing the clouds
With windswept light
Bleeding through the water drops
Roasting this face
With a memmory of a smile
And its tastes of sunlight showers

Guilded eyes does make this cold machine
Rattle and humm
Look at what this romance has done

Tuesday, 23 June 2009

Nobody Cares

Nobody cares for the boy who cries Wolf
As he sits around battling with demons in his head
He has his fathers crying sence of pride
As his mother sits on by
The truth is he has no voice to spout out
As he cries tomany times
To be taken out and heard
His mental state is closed in a cage
To maintane his cut off edges
Trimming him out of every of every picture

Because nobody cares

Nobody cares about the voices
Creeping in the outside of his head
Trying to pretrude his thoughts
And screaming let me out
As felt himself fall out
Hitting the walls with his bare fists
Bleeding the pure losses of frustration
As drops just stain his heart

Because nobody cares

Nobody Cares for someone who tries to put smiles
On the faces of others
With his quick whicked snips
Just crying out to be heard
As stumbles with words that he speaks to himself
Because no face can bare the sound of his voice
Dragging like gravel in the grounds
As the quires lock him in his room

Because nobody cares

Daddy looked on as his mummy tried to be strong
As they see their son dwindling and struggling on

Because nobody cares

Nobody cares he has no voice
As they take away his choices of how he should be
Lock him in cage and poke him with sticks
For Zoo like tricks
As the people come for the unique freak show
Of how a son wants to have power again

Because nobody cares

By Jeffrey Johns 24/6/2009

Monday, 22 June 2009

Daddy Done Wronge!

Take it for the Morning hours
My muma will ring
And there will be stings in the tones
Just crying out of the phone
By my side
Hey son is your father done
To which I stare at daddy
Breaking in the baring dust
From emotions and trust fading
Like a collapse in confidence
As I staggered over to his side
Daddy please do not
Reside in dishonesty
Just speak the truth
I can feel myself quaking
As he grasps the phone
Whispers out a quiet hello

Dear Darling
Have you got the job done?
Not another financial bank rush
So your not washed up
With the other scum

I stare at Daddies eyes glaring
With drowning tones
As he tried to speak
With calm notes of undertones
To hide up the feelings
Of things falling to pieces
As a job was done with a splattering of blood
Swiping across the eyes
Of the nerving tides
As soon as threats come down
Daddy always resorted to guns and hounds
As he was raiding around
The jobs usually done with dads
Untide with resplendent grace
But there was something tying his face right up!

Dear Darling
Have you got the job done?
Not another financial bank rush
So your not washed up
With the other scum

I stare at Daddy as he mumbles and fumbles
And breaks after finishing on the phone
He paused pale and white and stammered in sight
Oh son what have I done
I have done something wronge
I said what Daddy? What have you done?
Oh son I have shot a man he screamed
Just to get away without cuts and scrapes
To make a clean job and a fast getaway
So please don't let your mother see me in this place
Because I done a job badly
He said trying to pack me off
With a limp in his leg
And I just stand there nodding agreeingly
As he cried out loud
I could hear the tears dripping out of his eyes
Like rivers flowing into streams

He said son getaway
You do not want to see this display
Oh Daddy why should I go away?
His eyes began to bleed frustration
And panicy sensations creep all over him
He had been in jail before
For slinging hooks with dodgy crooks
He just wanted to shut the door on his life
To pay for his undeserved feelings
Of life

Jeffrey Johns 23/6/2009

Thursday, 18 June 2009

Just a Test

I feel a bit flat
Like everythings a let down
As I feel air wheeze out of myself
To the faces washed up
In the same old places
with a disgruntled look
Of what you took in the space of others
I feel the tensions running
Between my eyes
As the computer screen is blaring right out at me
With the rights of passage
Of words that we all sing and shout
In a conversation when it all falls to pieces

Just a test to see those crying hearts
Beat in those cold machines

I scower my life and wish for something better
As I wish too hold on
Without the riddled eyes of scorn
I can feel as bodies float on past me
Trudgiing in the sounds
Of look theres that idiot from the other side of town
They would smile behind the scowling farcades
Trippling out words of drawl in dust

Just a test to see those crying hearts
Beat in those cold machines

As the broken face of the clown
Is lining up on concreted ground
From the pasteral pictures of a smile
Painted in red corronettes
For this is where I slipped up
And let the pressure push me down
Unhushed tones cried like weary bones
knitting together as just stood there and frowned
Before busrting into laughter
As they burried my coffin deep into the ground

Just a test to see those crying hearts
Beat in those cold machines

This pasty face just can not speak
As everytime fell weak at the knees
And in adequacy there is something not right with me
As I can only sense people will listen
If I speak in the lines
Just don't speak about that subject
We will leave it till next time
And the time after that because we
Dont listen to you and your rats!

Just a test to see those crying hearts
Beat in those cold machines

By Jeffrey Johns 18/6/2009

Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Tears over Tehran

This day is yours
When your voice is being taken away
By the lynching government
As Tehran sings for power
As the voices of the millions sower
To voices of the Ahmadinejad power
As he barks like a broken dictatorship
Using barages like battle ships

Because there's tears over Tehran
As the Iranians take to the streets
Finding their feet with their voices
Trampled into the ground

The men who crowd the streets
have their blood cut by the plods
And the battons on the ends of their rods
Screaming we want the truth
And not an abuse of our system again
So floored As they free wheeled
Their voices in pain

Because there's tears over Tehran
As the Iranians take to the streets
Finding their feet with their voices
Trampled into the ground

The governer in greed
Saw 64% percent in seed
And I can claim democrassy
For taking the voices away from the streets
So I can fix and regulate
To eyes pleasing kingdom burn up in smoke
As Mousavi pleads his case
As the Pigs lay waist to the bodies
Watching the high streets drip with blood
Of a many broken hands

Because there's tears over Tehran
As the Iranians take to the streets
Finding their feet with their voices
Trampled into the ground

So what happened to this so called democrassy?
Covered in red taped bureacrasy
As the tens of the thousands came marching
Into the towns square
Armed with their voices of as ammunition
Too battle the battalions teeth
In the front line
Falling to pieces as their blood was hacked down
By those heavy hands to control the greed

Because there's tears over Tehran
As the Iranians take to the streets
Finding their feet with their voices
Trampled into the ground

They sensed blood was in the air
As police swang battons in despair
As they sped through on mopeds
Gasing all the crowed too choke their voices
They faced the bricks and stones braking brittle bones
As they fought for their voices to be heard
Braking glass and cracking skulls
Sharade too the voices of parades

Because there's tears over Tehran
As the Iranians take to the streets
Finding their feet with their voices
Trampled into the ground

The next dictatorship has been borne

By Jeffrey Johns 18/6/09

Tuesday, 16 June 2009


"God I am bored"
Bemuse a slouched potato like figure
Glowering over his half empty pint glass
In his local pub
"I am of the way this government is running this country"
he said with a stinging tones
"I am sick of government bureaucracy
Covering up lies with gloss and dross" he scowled
"Lets face it this government
Has been leading up shit creek for a while now
and I am sick of it
This government has more in common with
Big brother then it does speaking with true politics"
He said banging his fist against the bar
"I think the only reason why
Mr brown is prime minister is because
He can get a celebritalised job where
He actually does something that gets printed in heat magazine"
He paused briefly before sifting swig off his drink
"If he was not Prime Minister
Then he would be on I'm a Celebrity Get Me out of here
Trying to bed hop like a patronizing middle class bigwit
Who's sheer desperation was to grab every penny in the photographs.
I mean I can just see it now Gordon brown
Stood next to Christopher Bigglesworth
with that crass Jordie duo ant and dec
Doing running commentry for the visually impared
Or mentally restrained" he sighed staring at the bumps
"Either way its bloody painfull
Why is it that you have to have lots of money to run a country?
I mean both labour and torries are just as bad as each other
performing habitual bitch slapping dances sucking up to their leaders
And there is the Lib dems
Who are like the political ostrich
Shoving their heads in the sand hoping someone notices them
they mas as well do elections in an X factor styling
With a mass group sing and dance off"
He smirked with a distained sense of Irony

Sunday, 14 June 2009

Broken Toys

Broken toys rattle in the pram
As Mummies coughing up skag
And Daddies pulling scams
To bring the medicine man
Down too town
Just give me one pure hit of sugar
She would croak in his ear
Full of anxiety and fear
That a dependency cohurses
as the baby would scream
And her thin thin pasty skin would cream
Rattling the pram with
Her waisting wrists knotted

Broken Toys rattle in the Pram

As the puncture holes
Lay bare in her arms
And Daddies teeth wore black
Filing into holes
Of emotional blackmail
Please pull us in the pennies
So we can feed this lovely child
He would shout
With a whisky stale smell
Too everything including his
Coat amd tail
As he would spend it
On the cheap white Lightening

Broken Toys rattle in the pram

Mummy would pull all of her favoures
As she is lost on a downward spiral
Of daddies lashing out fists
For once they were a happy couple
And he cared for her heart
Just to be taken out by a menacing diseas
Leaving her with scars
On her brazen arms
Marked lumps stick out like sore thumbs
Where he had battered her
With a bass ball bat

Broken Toys rattle in the pram

The Baby is lying dirty
Untreated due to the circumstances around it
The tears of desolation
Run down the marked face
As it cries out for more touches
Of the heart to give it some warmth
As Mothers breast milk has run dry
From her lust of the Honeycombe
And the brown sugar
She wants to fix up in her life

By Jeffrey Johns 14/6/09

Saturday, 13 June 2009

The Iron Man

The Iron Man is cast out
And laughed out upon its clunkyness
Haha what a mess cried the local vests
For he is made out of a hoover built in vancouver
That the foriegn legions of the braging parades
Look at what we brought too this country
And how it stayed they praved
but the locals were very vocal
about their discontent as the way of the work went
Lets blame the government and call it hell bent
As they sieged towards its learing glare
From the tin foil eyes staring just right there
With the spot lights blairing
Tinting right there
And his biscuit tin arms swing loose and thin
His amstrad vocal card jetted out
All crinkled and hard shout what going on
They locals replied this is you final song
As they armed themselves with what they thought
Were burners and axes
But even though the Locals were very vocal
They were not very focal
So instead the had superglue and sax's
Ha ha ha you are utterly displaxic
Laughed the iron man sounding like he was coming from a can
From somewhere like Budapest or Pakistan
Iam here to stay and I will put you all in play like a poker game
You see I was made of supertrue
And not that rubbish Uhu glue
Burn hime scoft the vocal local
Who were not very focal
As they tried to light the nibs of the glue tube nibs
And try and hit him
With the razor blunt sax's
This for the razing of our taxes
And our job axes the not very foccal locals screamed
Swinging and missing lumping each other in the face
What a public disgrace!

Take it as the truth

Just sit here
And take it as the truth

The sweating tears are shaking
As its been just over a year
Since I was put under
From the bread and butter knife blunder
I sit on down at the student table flinching
Into the grounds of 22 Ashton gate rd
The damien voice playing me
Like a bow and fiddle
Highly strung and tensious
As laughter is swirling outside of me
It feels like as if I am being heckled
Torn apart because I can not smile
Through the dreary tears
As the others can not uncerstand
The shakingmental situation
As I lock myself in my room
Trying to skalpal off my hair
I'm just having one of those crisises
In confidence that preludes me
And sharks bighting on the distant memmories

Just sit here
And take it as the truth

I hear a knocking on my door
And the gentle tones of a housemate
Checking up on me and my mental displacement
I find myself red raw and rampant
At my subconcious energy making me sour
They persuade me down
As the tears are flowing out
Of frustrations of who I should be
The visions of the hospital flash
Infront of me
Causing my heart and skin to flinch
And I hear the laughter of my housemate
Lament around
I cant help but feel all the jokes are about me
I warn them that I am about to snap
Because I am on the last freying thethers
Of this long hold rope
They can see my eyes bleed with tears
As the sence my insecurities
As they fleet around me
I just haver to plead
Please leave me I need to be like this

Just sit here
And take it as the truth

I know you are all trying to do a supportive job
But at these times I need to cry out
Frustration times to heal myself
From these wounding chimes
Running around in this head
I spoke to their bending ears
As they tried to help me
Rip out my hairs looking on in despair
I found my lost sense of identity
Creeping up into this unstable head
I hope you can bare with me
Because this is something I dont want to be
So please do pardom me

Thursday, 11 June 2009

Break Out

Break on out
To try and not
Let those voices
Get you right on down
Even though they are
Running you on the
Same old broken grounds

When you try and find your feet
Did you find yourself tumbling on down?
Were the questions so perplexing
That you were confused beguiled
Because you kept on thinking
Like a dranged child
Running on wild
Into the grey stone haze
Dripping with a black and white memmory
Of how life used to be
Dreaming of the things
That turned to dust
With the greatest of plans
And real life scams
To earn yourself the dream
Glam dram that you ran along
With I'm a supstar shlong
For it all to go wrong

Break on out
To try and not
Let those voices
Get you right on down
Even though they are
Running you on the
Same old broken grounds

So when you lying in a pram
did you ever think you would become
Such a strangely textured man?
With insecurities that does not
Want to play on the ill of ease
I mean I can pay for you
Just don't expect me to please you
I want to be MR Sympathy
But there is a Devil in me
Just choking on my voice of prosperity
Trying to join the dots od integrity
Like badly woven fabrics
Tattered and freyed
As everything that is false
Flambed and flanked
as those mateiriel dreams seem to fade

Break on out
To try and not
Let those voices
Get you right on down
Even though they are
Running you on the
Same old broken grounds

So try and trample your feet
Make a stance oh so neat
and not at all weak at the knees
To depleet yourself
with mental illness and wealt
Standing by in shody health
just waltering in stealth!

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

The Bridge

I find myself
Stood on the edge
Of this white bridge
The tears streaming on out
Of my blanket eyes
As the evening coldness
Just bights this lonesome feeling
As the crush just broke my heart

The only thing that gave me warmth
Was the waters swirling
Beneath my feet
The broken cries I give out
As desperation sweeps
Across this mind
With the voices
In my head calling out
Wanting me to jump on down
As I find myself clinging
Onto the white metal
Barriers at the edge of the Bridge

I take one stiffening breath
As the cold wind hits my face
Wondering why did I
Have to caught up in this place
And be born with a softness in heart
Thats cares
And gets burned all the time
So the coldness stains me
Picking off my hairs
As all the sense of smiling
Is drained on out
by the car crash
Of this hearts ride

If I had somebody
To give me a hug
A warmth and sensitivity to talk
Me through the mess in my head
Pulling on these lonesome voices
The heart strings sting
As I was bent over the edge
Because I had fallen
For bambi's eyes
Which drove like a stake into me

This cold heart just beats
Its final tones
A stair at the swirling undertones
The only sign of warmth
Is coming from the river bed
As I can see the only smiles
Fall on your face
When I am burried in box
with a six foot bed enclaved
So I wave bye bye
And take the final step
to cast myself away from this stress

Maybe there is something better for me
If I open the door
From this great hight
Would there be something of supprising
As I feel the voices try an talk me out
But all I can hear are
Ones of self doubt
Like the monsterous
person that I can be

So let me will out
And take my final bow
As the curtain are calling
For met me to fall on out!

by Jeffrey Johns 10/6/09

Tuesday, 9 June 2009


Your so cool
And not at all a fool
People would scream
At the latest teen idols
Flashing blazen clean
On the front covers of the magazines
Only to be rejected
By the spontainious redials
As the boy bands fans
Haud like swelling glands
Crushing with stampedes
Of trippling feet
To greet the false dawning
Of pomposity
Miming with all to well
Timed senses of perfection
As the same old spokes
of the overly oild machine
As everything seemed to gleam
With a deadly unrealistic sheen
Oh you have to be so keen
To look at me with any kind of disparatee
For in reallity we are just weeded out
Glamour rags with no personality
I mean look at this glossy magazine
And turn to page 17
For there is picture
Of me with the queen
Feeling so prestine
As his eyes would shimmer
A reflective repartee
And the family friendly feed
They would put on as armoury
To defend thee
To hide the thrift reallity
Dawning choruses of oh look at me
Don't I look good in tweed
Oh waht a perspective to have
When your downing rights
10 street thunder
And no that is not me
Blundering out of the club
Sucking upto pigs
For the sweets of what was
Once Top Of the Pops jamboree
From the clanging sounds of Jimmy Savill
To the 90's separtee
Of the two step dance moves
We repeat with irony
So come put a smile on our faces
For we are pop pickers tastes
As we are dancing along
Tony Blakburns face
With a gleam and glammour
Of the TV streams
Live audience kick and stream
With bloody mass tears
As their pop idols come fallin
Crashing out of their heavenly air!


Sunday, 7 June 2009

Watch your Streets

Watch these streets
Ther maybe BNP seats
With all their candidates
Running up with grease
Like nast insects
With itching bights
are hiding our sights
For racism is what we want
They all huff and puff
For the fight of the White Mans plight
Only to find out
We are all really imigrants
Just like the other types
You see how can we irradicate
Something this country has been built on
With its rich history
Of invasions and vacuous glee
That will always wilt the BNPs party pollicies
For they are really nasty boned thugs
working like a machine
To spread eagle disparatee
A bit like Nazi pollicy
Running through their blood
Slap their bitches
And treat them rough
Only tender on equal terms
To those of the same point of view
Or blood as you
Your old views on
How we should view
Those of other clothes
Not wanting to give in
To those with differents skins
because they have no belongings
They would chuinder and sing
With the sounds of stinging
Fists of glory ringing

So Fuck the BNP
And their nationalistic views
which really are very skewed
Out of date and lewed
As barrell clenching teeth
Scower like dodgy security guards
Up for a fight
As they claim to be in the right
And we are in the wrong
For letting others sing our songs
Settles and belong

So watch your streets
As they maybe BNP seats
So when you go and vote
In your polling stations
Then sing your voice
And make the right choice
Just don't be brought in
By their whips and their stings
Of their false presentings
Being nice and clean
Because they are really
Vile human beings

The Nightmares Of The Girl Next Door

Take down the burning woods
brake and burn off the old memmories
The girl next door in broken skin
From tortures of sado masacism
The young son falls
For her gentle charm

The nightmares are flowing
Back into his eyes
Of the memmories of the girl next door

Her owner strang her
up against the walls
Stretching her naked flesh
With the skin singing
As the burning ropes
Tightened on her wrists and her ankles
And th haunted aunts words
Would rattle out
As young son Davey began to scream and shout
as her sister is abused
With the brothers standing in line

The nightmares are flowing
Back into his eyes
Of the memmories of the girl next door

Her aunt straddles her
Against the wire bed
There is only one thing darling
Boys want you for
Thats the spot between your legs
That make you the draw
But if you open it up
Then it will make you a whore
As the boys have a go one by one
As her her poorly beaten sister
Stares onwards and glum

The nightmares are flowing
Back into his eyes
Of the memmories of the girl next door

She used to paint
Beautiful pictures of swirling colour
Her cuts are brazen
From the sheer wieght of the sheefs
Looks at this boys
She is doing us down
Lets punish her for
Bringing the policeman around
And lets whip her sister
for the sheer petulance

The nightmares are flowing
Back into his eyes
Of the memmories of the girl next door

Now Davey is spent at his desk
Sniffing the seconds
Of his cold dry Whisky
Staring at the the unscrabbled
Picture of colours
As he unfirls the memmories
Of torturing nightmares
Drawing on tears
Amongst the banks of the crab fished rivers
Where stumbling they met
On a warm summers day

The nightmares are flowing
Back into his eyes
Of the memmories of the girl next door

The pain is plastered across his face
As the tear stained wood
Is riddled with knots
So no one can claim
To know what pain is
As Davey sips the drifts
Of the whisky washed air
Swigging the Whisky washed air
Shedding the memmories off his blood
Holding back th barrackings
In the hidden circumstances
Where not a peep was heard
Until the scars she bore were refreshed
No one believes a little boys voice
as they all think he is crying wolf

Thursday, 4 June 2009

The Crush

Oh sunshine give me hope
That there is a fire that
I can stoke
The flames of a smile are lasting
Whilst thick clouds
are drawing in
So where should I begin
With a story so perplexing
A smile
A stare with a glare
To you over there
With fair brown hair
And a body to spare
with whispers of almost debonair
Complexion of skin
Bronzed and singed
A gentle sensiousness in touch
A blushing rippling feeling
Does wash me up and down
Lifting the furrowed brow
With a smile to endour
With a warmth that
I hope does not sour
God I don't mean
To be sounding dour

You said that I always made you smile
But I can't help but feel
That I cramp all your styles
You make me feel miles high
With my heart pumping like a stye
From the rubber eyed youth
And slender mis-abuse
Because you think you are so obtuece
But you have nothing to fear
because you will always be enedeared
By a warmth of atmosphere
Please take me anywhere but here dear
Because I cant help but stear
My sight into the plushing eye
Of your face
Shining plumped lips pushing
as you breath words
Of image concerns
As you said you wanted a washboard stumach
You did mo care for Annorexic dispair
Because no phillipino masses
Have ounces of fat on their lasses

Its hard to look good
And not be mis-understood
By those of opposite sex's
Burning hexes
Of charicterizations of
How others judge you
For their enjoyments
And the avante caring
For the one thing
The addictiveness of compulsion
Crushes and urges
Brings on this hearts
With a romeo clanging in the head
Just wanting to spittle out
Words that are tumbling out
With a vile sound
Of a shafted quickness
And quivering pounding
Oh my god!
My skin is shrowding to the blunderous
Blushing tones of a beetroot Red
As she stared smiling
with white valed teeth
This has almost scary intent
I want to ask her one big thing
Will she?
Do You?
in fractuous moments
Where one hopes something will happen
To spread the possitivity
Or leave me in the usual heart break and dispree

Free the Crow

Sat in the cage
The crow just sqwarked
The repressive voices
Did the million man marches
Of self expression
Get diluted to fit in
With todays mamouth marathons
Of cultural exclusion
Asthe scary truths
We put upon another type
He said hitting his beak
Against the wire of the cage
Rattling him with rage
And I could see his tears
Roll on down his feather tarred up skin
I have been through the battles
And this is the respect that I get
He said featheringthe wire bars
Holding him with castration
Just as I stand and stare listening in

So free me now
And open up this cage
Because I need to flex these wings

I mean is it really freedom
If I am sat here in a cage
Being poked at by sticks or mornacades
For the gazing hauds
To hound my very image
Holding down this voices
to stereotype mimic and swipe
He crowed as I just stand here
Watching him fleet
Shuffling his across the wire
And onto the swing
He had a certain menace about him
With the scard up legs
Folding on his balance
And with one eye bleeding
These are my wounds
From masters whips and chains

So free me now
And open up this cage
Because I need to flex these wings

So I open up the cage
which was a mesh of blood nad wire
Interlocking my fingers
To pull it apart
With loud screams
I hear coming out
Out of his beaks
quivering tones of frustrations
And reliefe as the trap door
Of his life opend
Wide up to his eyes
I never thought I would see the day
When this crow could speak
With out the walls of wires
Closing me in
He sqwarked edgily
As he hobbled out
To the bright lights of the world outside
As he flew out of the cage
Shone with with a blackened velvet
Feel as he flapped his broken wings
Thanking me for de-chaining his slavoury
And giving him a right to be

So free me now
And open up this cage
Because I need to flex these wings

Monday, 1 June 2009

On The Spot

So waiting here
For the curtain to drop
I feel my heart pulversing
With nervous drops
As sweat bleeds out
Of my head and my hands
I stand here like a withered man
As I open up my vocal glands
For nothing to really stand

As the curtains are flung open
I feel a never ending circus
Of desperation
Cradling frantic thoughts
As I try to think clearly
With the braking black cloud
Luminating in my head
As I can see eyes peering perilously
With the voices of go on idiot
Make us laugh
Make us heave and half
With your fat anecdotes
On which we know you will choke

The lights I can feel
Blazing on my forehead
Pointing to random things
As people become objectives
Of ear peeling perspectives
As I cant help but feel
Myself ranting out of control
Because all you want to hear
Is jokes from the fat mans lear
And self repressed thoughts
Of manic depressive saunts
as voices argue and riddle and toll
God we must destroy
This baron empty soul

I feel myself battling
With all good will
but there is something making it ill
As braldy man steps up
With a knife in his hand
I can see a fear in his eyes
Ready to rip me to shrides
His eyes beam a hollow light
As he reaches out with fright
Grabbing my head from the lights
And wheelding the knife
He screams down you go
Good bye to your life
Rest up in the levans
Of pain and strife
Because we dont want to
Hear about your Life

Empty Smile

Empty smiles rattle on the vacant bottles
That lined her walls
The E marked pills
That she tried to choke
In her vulnerable state
As the Medication ran to the psychiatrists chair
Picking out questions
From her unwound chest
Of tears that stained her face
Of desolate smiles
Echoed with the papering up cracks
That splinter all the shells

Because my My friend
You have got to smile
So show your teeth
And mine will break another day

Her bent on head
Dangled down the drains
As she was puking all the frustrations again
Haunting ramifications left
Unburdoning sense of disapointment
As the doctors perscriptions
Rattle around redundantly
She handed out the nails
In screams for help
Her withered voice
Just gushed out empty smiles

Because my My friend
You have got to smile
So show your teeth
And mine will break another day

In the shadow
She lay her broken smile
And wrapped it up in a stone cold box
The lid that marked her out
Swept her voice under the carpet
With a million trodden voices
That brake out for the spooked words
Calling the heart that she beat
Under false pretentions

Because my My friend
You have got to smile
So show your teeth
And mine will break another day

Hiding it all
In her thickend smiles
Around the softend faces
Her fading pale lit eyes
Ring out with the nervouse stride
In comforting walls of pain
The strains that she would
Bring the knives to the table
And burn her skin
Till the roses trickle red

Because my My friend
You have got to smile
So show your teeth
And mine will break another day

Sunday, 31 May 2009

Caugh In The Headlights

The light of the rails
Burns a vigorous light
When kisses burn like stings
And the tension between
The flags we bare is burning up
The skin rushes like lofted edges
Speeding along the tracks
In edgy habbits

I am the Rabbit
Caught in the headlights
Blairing at the flashes
Crashing on my name
The squeals ring these
Old ears to the bones

This train is squealing on the brakes
As life just seems to hit me in the face
With full on shock tatics
And distateful memmories
We are heading for the rails
In the time of tears
Streaming out with wet dripped words
The frantic beat of spokes
Hitting the wheels
Like a cautionary car crash

I am the Rabbit
Caught in the headlights
Blairing at the flashes
Crashing on my name
The squeals ring these
Old ears to the bones

Thouisands of people
Eminate my name
With the ringing sense of glee
And the paperazzi stains
All claiming to have ownership
On my very name
As they are lingering
In the steam soaked shadows
Rusting in the junkyard
Hiding behind a plastic coated fassard
The vaneer is fake
with the cracking in the walls
of this mental state

I am the Rabbit
Caught in the headlights
Blairing at the flashes
Crashing on my name
The squeals ring these
Old ears to the bones

Clammering at the frantic
Speeds opf light
Decompasing splits that
Live in two lives
One for all the quiet rights
And the other for the steam and gloss
Of a charmfilled heartache
Of a pressurised crush
As there are splinters
On the rails
Cracking all the lines
Whistle stop madness
Cracking onto me

I am the Rabbit
Caught in the headlights
Blairing at the flashes
Crashing on my name
The squeals ring these
Old ears to the bones

The snaring voices all blur
Into one forgetfull tone
Forging fake friendships
In pretence circumstances
Buying all the truths
For the meek of responcibility
Questions ebb and flow
On the rattling strutts
Because these eyes glow
As I am stuck right here

Saturday, 30 May 2009


I Can Be

I can be a hero, A Liar or a cop
just take this swig and your mind will drop
As I take a taste of the river flown lager
Watching pills push up walls of the waters edge

I mean I can also be a plosited
Esqutiod Gentleman displaying affection
With a kandid of hand holding grace gently
As the eyes float too the bottom of the glass

I can be a phylosipher, a debater and genral public hater
With the rambled tones of bluring words
As I slur everything I had ever heard
Burning tones of the tongues of the undone verbs

I would also used to consider myself
Someone who was born with an untold welth
As I pushed pennies towards the watering holes
Drinking gin from the Tin to hide the holes within

I mean I can be anything I want to be if I put my mind to it
I can be a Fireman just like Sam
Or wait here for hours
For the final tones of the slaming bells
Ringing hometimes hoodlum

I can be pollitician, a Barister or a clart
Talking like the Urban tarted man
And his shackled plans
Rulling out his grands for a bitterness that always stands

I can be a Boxer, a rebbelionist or an Actor
Taking in stages everything for the X factor
A star to shine above my name
As I sift in vein through the Kronnies eyes

But there is a staining taste in my mouth
As I often talk like I have got no spout
without rolling lines of the white devine
to shove up my nostrils for the sobring times

I can be a Joker playing on people with hot pokers
Or the misserable skulcker loathing in the corners
With a vegetating insulting and un kind
Until I pull up these mental blinds

I can be journalist, a jouster or a public bouncer
looking from the sides hounding
with Authoritan poundings
Shelling out dust from nights of uproarings

I can be anything
If I can take my eyes away from the half empty glass
haunting me with its very grip gritting my teeth

Thursday, 28 May 2009

The Modern Artist

I am an Artist with a victorian vaneer and a corrigated sneer
With a rich mummy and Daddy giving me the freedom
To be none other then a Tracy Emin want to be
Copying and pasting with never ending glee
I'll take a photo of my bedroom and sell it as Nouvell art Cousine
Until it bleeds freely with green fibres to me
Oh won't it make mummy and Daddy pleased happy
To see their young son pappying amongst the glitzy yobs
And those all so precious and oh so selacious Art crittic lots
This is fabulouse they would cheer
with pointlesness of a new debonair
As they all staired at a desolated bed placed in the corner
With the please rub me stains stuck onto the sheets
As I pose with useless unbespoken tones
Strutting around the Ta Ta ing snobbery in corners
Cringing with the nose of the nouvell artist
rank with the hooked tones of the higher class echaelons of society
Tarting up the regal parties with bucks of fizz and whizz
Oh what a wonderful life this is
Looking at vast creations blandlism as petice and exciting
Even if I am copying it in writing!
I am a human not a robot,
I got needs that you aint got
I got emotions you wont rot
Because I am a human not a Robot

Dont be confused by my irregular appearance and my lack of coherence
When I speak in the tongues of the burning man
Looking for connections and emotions of who I can recieve
With glowing hands and a warmth to touch me
Jump starting this heart of proffessed lyrical messes
As rambled out drones of mundane groans
Judging me like treason with alphabetical alchemy running down my neck
Making me sick of being treated with the same mechanical dresses
Underpined by profesional stances that we identify ourselfs
stacking along the isles of the same old shops
With the mid life chrisis stuck in the middle
Like a flowing mental state of instability
Pondering on a wire of how to let this life be heard and not disturbed
As I put a foot in to test the waters of who I can be in this life
And what I can see to be displaced in society
Like dismorphic abombinations that some of the human race adear to
In stereotypical formations clustering in gangs
Because they want each others backs and fear
Being lone masts for provercations
As they dont know how to cry with pride

I am a human not a robot,
I got needs that you aint got
I got emotions you wont rot
Because I am a human not a Robot

I have a disability of the learning tides
So I dont always know how to move with the rise of the human flowings
Bringing to power the voices of many complexions
That always lurke in these eyes
As I am battling with a crushing pride
And a passion that carries me on the roughest of strenuous rides
Creating a sliding slope for me to fall into the diches of conformity
It scares me to think that we judge others on what we see
Without knowing the truth of their picture battled storries
Of what lives they lead because we are to concerned with our own breeds
Like malfrustrations causing confusions within humanizations
Asking question of how we should intergrate with one and other
And where does my heart sit when you are mis-stitched
With discomfort into your new clothes like an emporer with a new thrown
Pulling off the browning points of life
To counter act the dower sounds of the tragic man
Walking in lines of the slumbersome streets
splashing waterstone man with the coldened hand
Burining frustrations into the voices of an uncontrolable flexing rage
Like red raw rape of society
So we become indiginous of individuality excluding those that do not look a like

I am a human not a robot,
I got needs that you aint got
I got emotions you wont rot
Because I am a human not a Robot

The Human phylosophy is to take orders from the barking dogs
Handling mis-cast personalities living a liberal freedom
As I find myself revolting against accusations
Burning in the name of the family dust
As I appear with a lollaping tongue full of dis-taste an honesty
I can bight with a lie, but sometimes I would wish I would die
Just to be judged by the person that I am
And not by the skins that I carry on me
So just don't look at me because I have the palest of skin
Just come and ask and I might let you in
To show you all my personalised insecurities
And how I would like things to ring with a bueatiful glee!

Tuesday, 26 May 2009

Who really cares for the voices under the stairs?
Hiting the cobbled wood from the empty shed
As social concience stings and colours of voices runs rings
About contexts of foundations we all swing round and round
With polliticians stamping on the higher grounds
Along with their maccabre tones of the lefts and the rights
braging amongst the richest types
With Westminster snobs mobing all the parties useless yobs

The Houses of parliment ring roses with clerks and poses
Raise upto the mic my dear speaker
We are ready to make you feel a bit weaker
Bark the dogs of the other clans and pods
So who are you? Labour? Torry? or Lib Dem and boring?
They would all sings as a skinny pale man skimmed upto the mic
I speak for man of the Joe Public clans
Well we all do that they spat out with stingy tones
Raising their voices too the cieling

But really they are all just dreaming!
I mean who can afford a second home in Ealing?
When they claim to be dealing in aid of the public healing
I mean do you see ministers on public transport?
no you see them in personal escorts
With Jaguars and Porschs pouring out all over Camerons Green clauses
Whilst Brown drowns in Labours instabilities
And there is no hope for the Lib Dems to stem security!

So Lets confuse the public they cry
And make everything prohibited until we all die
Hide everything with red taped buerocrassy
That we can all call democrassy
Hide in shame and poke the lame elements of scandles
Of who did what to which middle class toff
Ringing with bighting acusations of who did what
Like herds of dogs in kennells
For we are right and you are wronge
They would scream along to the same old songs
With lollaping tongues laping from side to side

Monday, 25 May 2009


How can You Speak Proud
When you dont know how to feel aloud
To Raise your voice and stick it out with pride

Your voice is a statement of clerickle intent
Of how you react to societies lament
we always judge you on meaningful intent
And how you pronounce with clear intensity
On how we should lead humanity
From the pounds of the Paupers too public inauguations
As fickle illusions bight and hold
Destroying conclusions of public confidence
In Bitter Streets where violence meets oppresion
That we sweep into the coverns of society
To lead on the beaten tracks of obscurity
White trash havens crawling with crack addled miss abuses
Voices that are trodden down in grifting
Like the fear of the youth spitting repression

How can You Speak Proud
When you dont know how to feel aloud
To Raise your voice and stick it out with pride

Desolate desperation haunts in the eyes of the judged
As they are ready to hang for the chop of the voices
Spearing lifes pure grimes in isolating times
Where we arrest ourselves
Pushing on punishment in our minds
Sugesting we are not ready for the testin times
Toppling over the sands of time spent equalising rights and wronges
Among many people to raise their stances
With people living without chances
To break out of the cycles of Repressing outsiders
With the sounds of trampled on plans
With the triumphant slams of pollitical cablams
Laying aim on Joe publics men

How can You Speak Proud
When you dont know how to feel aloud
To Raise your voice and stick it out with pride

Sunday, 24 May 2009



I am the insecurities crawling in your skin
wishing how you looked better off thin
stripping yourself down too the bones of personalities
Skeletal tones and brittle bones
Causing you to look at life like a pointless self help video
Where does it go with all the feelings of washed up dazed dreamings

I am your personal judgement That will hound and hackle you
Until you give in to voices of self doubt in your head
Causing you to see everything with a black cloud
Drowning out the sunshines light
And shouting out a loud No I am not proud

I am the voice of reason
Telling you everything you do is right or wronge
Making you mark your sword with pride
Or swallowing it withb lifes great strides

I am the ghost in your head
Creeping in your dreams as I sift through your every stiring moment
Breathing life into your hazards and deepest fears
so please do not be to uppset my dear

I am your shadow following your every move
With almost stalker like tendencies
As I inch with ever miloscoping attention to detail
Down to every last little twitch or flick

My Dear I am your every question you ask
And dont always supply the answer
Because it is uncomfortably perplexed,
Confused and concused up in your head
As you piece together fractured words

I am the holder of the kanded touch
That just wishes for a warmly hug and softness of skin
But these voices within
Will always trap me in a harsh sharded tin



I am Art
I feel like I am hitting my head against a brick wall
As every time I stumble and fall
With ever present stances of disatisfaction
Playing upon my every reaction
As events slap me in the face with a cold neck brace
I can not help but think that my face is out of place
And I can not help but feel disgraced
As everything seems to blow all over the place
As there goes the optimist of the human race

Whats that he has special needs creativity as his friend
Other would sneer and condisend towards me
We cant have you as one of ours
They soured because creativity is on your boards
They would wrap tongues and twist around my wrists urging me to slit them

So we all will laugh at his funeral they all jeered
And that is where they all claimed to know him and his colourfuls glory
For Art was a nerdy kid with strange complexions and no sence of pride
As his story had been washed away with human tides of hystory
Like snowy blurs of colour fading to grey
As they burdoned me with diluting cheap champaign
People walked around stairing at empty cases and frames
With a never ending sence of distaste
You could see their eyes buzzing thinking
Did I Kill ART?

With worrying tones placed on their faces Arts crittics would race
with no ending to senses of who could I crittic next
And treat with X-ray Spex
As looked at those labled in the different line
Whilst singing who will step out of line this time?
As they burried me with a jolly ho
And the sounds of Corks blew and flowed with chardoniegh bows
Lets start dealing they all squealed with nasty undertones
As they had all hid away their Van Goughs Picassos and Renoires with Monets
With their mixed up memoires
Arts long term crittics began started to bleed with the green of cashes deadly gleame
As they would pause to think his only disability was his Creativity

We should not encourage this the Joe Public squealed
As they yealded all plans to burn pictures and paintings
Smash all Crockery to bring about destructive glee and cap the hands of creativity
As their faces wriggled with uncontrolled freedom of glee
Demonstrating how Arts death had lead to prosperouse deeds
Of marketing simple image needs to those to conform with ease
But there is still one question perplexing me and that is
Who Killed ART?

Death of the Optimist


Ladies and Gentlemen I want to make an anouncement
In the corner is the death of the Optimist
Calling on all Mourners ready to recite the hopes of his life
As he watched it washing around to paupers
Lacking from funding and appreciated hands
To build something that stands out these bare hands
And the creative words that he slurred with the burning finger tips
Lets halk them off they cried with jelousy and careless bodies
Wanting to stop and control everything with a jot, jot, jot

So we burried the Optimist with all the smiles that he bore
timbered up in an oak framed box with all his woulds, could and coulds
Cooped up into his lasting memmories of creativities In the labours glee
that brought about sunshine smiles long evapourated to the pennies rolling out of pockets
As the funding was shutting down like a cap on creativities crown
Oh so we will make you all drown
because you come from the same town as Van Gough, Monet and Picasso or Renoire
With all the other artists lofts and paintbrushes in the air
And scream we are writers not fighters
Painters not surplainters of flse pretences
As we find creativity wanting to be hung drawn a quatred

So lets Laugh at the Optimists grave
And say how good it was for us to make creativity our slavoury
As we indulged into the mundane copying of the want to be's for the pennies to ease
Because creativity is seen as a deadly disease
We dont design for people with differences to breath on the same terms as everybody else
Oh god theres a spastic with the creativity disease lets tax every breath he breathes
Lets face it we are all charities in need
The Optimist would plead tears
Please give me some spare change to makes this worth many smiles
Because all he wants to do is live and breath with the freedom of fresh air