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