Slam Tell We Are All Shot
Grand Slam
God Damn
What a Sham
Devoid of a Plan
And who will be left to hold the Can
When we have shot everyone in the Foot
And none of us can walk to the well
To Tell
The Robots
No 1 is listening anymore
We have reached an impasse
The glass houses are imploding
On the corrosion of self
The mirror's are stuck reflecting
Mental health in skin so thin
Long passed caring
Thanks for sharing
My toe's are done curling
The shedding thread
Caught between the window ledge
And garden hedge
The blown washing
Has come to rest
Trying to escape the slam
Of every door that shut before
Come what may
Letting up
Is not giving up
It is progress
In costly
Designer Dress
The Reflex
Of the Prefects
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