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
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