Giving the words a breath of air
Slaying the old ones without a care,
Assuming always they were never there,
A gut feeling is an empty despair
The fringes of thinking become a lair
But the bright clouds shit their bombs everywhere.

Leaving the blank screens, their video games
Striking a similarity with the lame brains
Smiling atrocities is the latest of names
The sickly punctuated multi-coloured displays
Show that wars aren’t about death or laser rays
But the sky pisses napalm missiles every day.

Living the life of a mole in Baghdad
Is nothing if not ever so sad
The writing moguls feeding what is mad
Living is living is making a killing
Trying to pierce walls that are unyielding
But the vomiting fires go on in every way.

Pete Wakeham  5th Feb 1991