The Shrieking Sisters

Do silence them Do prick the mortal flesh Spin a web in what they bleed And chain them to the garden gate Maidens of the high teas Casting a tower of pollution The thick smoke clinging to the inside Of a cautious lung, a war of attrition Taking to the top, with their chains Like ghosts in padlocks, haunting A society plucked back into industrial revolution Those banshee women, screaming, the shrieking sisters The races, a parade of clockwork Creatures in their satellite hats Screeching heavy volumes above the roar All of my wealth for a flood of golden horses Garish, those colours, puce and bilious A degradation of a rainbow, the soap box On which they stand, force feed those demons Chain them up and throw away their dignity, virginity Bombing their way through London With their Luftwaffe in petticoats and spitfires Shooting like stars downward, terrorism But we must remember those shrieking sisters For they had the strength to fight Those shrieking sisters had the right idea