Revolution in my head
Insurrection in my tears
All pretence is stormed
By a mob of honesty
Remnants of ragged genius,
Trod upon by horny feet,
In yellowed pools of rat piss,
Horny feet in slow retreat.

And high upon their pikes,
There hangs a quiet dirge,
They skewer black leather clouds,
So that heavy truths emerge.

And through those dripping walls
A steady hum diffuses
As an orgy of cockroaches
Whisper soft berceuses.
They lie upon its belly,
And rise with every heave
And caress the body sleeping
As the greying masses leave.