57. Fuckin' In the Wind

Merry man George
Fancy fleet footed
Danced like he cared
Although he became rooted
Stuck to the floor.
Couldn't get through the door.

Chopping up the lines
Like there was no tomorrow.
He has to beg
Steal and borrow
The lines he sings
So that he can make more.

Fuckin' in the wind.
Against the timber.
State your intention.
We all lose.

Create an execution of dilemma
You all know the one.
The one they call upon.
The one they praise.
The unholy God.
Liquid crystals in a codpiece.

Grievance in democracy
Raise suspicions
Executions upon trial.
Feared deliberations.
Count toward no man witheld;
Monsterous creations.

War is a three letter word.
Of which I'm becoming
Bored and wreckless.
I'm so bored;
With all this shit.

It's all so feckless.

Fuckin' 'gainst a leg
It's no use
State your allegations.
We all lose.

Create an abundance of fuck knows
You all know the one.
The one they call the one they chose.
The one they praise.
The unholy God.
Methodised Queens in a proven state of booze.