Yes S O S
Werd Mog and InJoke

Holding a skull like Hamlet
To be or not to be
To achieve or accept normality
To breath free to some degree
God damn it
Could never add it up
My mathematics was good enough
But formula used had an evasive touch
Or some bits removed
To confuse our worth
Fuck this Earth
Seen enough dirt and souls that hurt
Seen some grow but the sunlight froze
Over most of the coast
In rains too much
When the bairns need lunch
We shouldn’t need to ask Rashford
A failure of state that we didn’t observe
An empty plate shouldn’t
Need discussed

Check the compass
Check directions
And it seems there’s
More than three degrees
Between me and you
So build a wall from stone
Draw lines in the sand
In time
The colours bleed through

This is the race in which horses will fall
The endings been televised
Nobody calls
This the descent
This the limitless crawl
And this is becoming the myth of us all
Denying the devil we hid in his thrall
Denying his gifts
And his gimmicks and all
Best wishes
Lie back and assume the position
And think of the mission is all
Avoid chat
Bicker and brawl
It's that Floyd act
Brick in the wall
Best be appalled
Flowered profanity
Vanity where all
The lyrics are scrawled
Asking for balm
And I’m giving them salt
Things a man does
When you limit his calls
You've taken his will
But he gives it his all
If Sampson relaxes
Then no prisons fall

Check the compass
Check directions
And it seems there’s
More than three degrees
Between me and you
So build a wall from stone
Draw lines in the sand
In time
The colours bleed through

One two
I pulled the sword from
The stone when I cracked the mold
Stole your broken heart
Sold you back your soul
I’ll approximately exact a toll
Then posthumously
Come back to gloat
I’ve been trying to get cunts
To stop saying goat
Cause it’s gayer than a sailor
On a boat made of soap
If you know you know
If you don’t then you don’t
Cunts want me to pose
For a phone but I wont
People try and clone
Every poem that I’ve wrote
Thinking I’m a rouge
But I’m wholesome as hope
Knocked heavens door
Wearing robes like the pope
Cold to the core
Stoned from the dope
I hope they boak I loath they folk
I choked the woke
With a home-made rope
Roamed the road till
It brought me home
Followed the flow
Do-si-do