Train stations and maps
lay the world bare
in blue and red lines
like scars
telling you where you are
in this town
where we lay ourselves down
watching downtrodden humanity
in raindrops on windows
and a plastic bag
driven by the wind
to God knows
are we as flimsy as this?
Our fragility is strong
a bruise upon our cheeks
writing maps on our skin
telling us where we are
without telling us our place
what use is a train
if we don’t know where we’re going to, anyway?

‘I am dead,’ Said Fred
‘I’ve got worms inside my head
slithering through the aftermath of my death
I am carnage
I am meat on bones
eat me, eat me!
Bring on the crows!’

I said
‘You’re not dead, Fred
and the worms in your head
are just thoughts you couldn’t catch
turned to fog before you could grasp
I’ll call the doctor
he’ll bring you back.’

‘I am dead,’ Said Fred
If you call a doctor
call Dr Crow
say, ‘Dr Crow, Fred is dead’
And she’ll know
how to return me
And son, I’ll be seeing you
from a birds eye view

Tv screens and radio
magazines and stereos
all these thoughts
pulverised in our minds
whole little worlds
behind our eyes
some of us becoming pulp
dazed and confused
I can’t organise all this shit in my brain
how on earth do we get off of this fucking train?
I need a warehouse
to store all these fucked up thoughts and feelings
Cuz I’m apt to start screaming
don’t hold us close
when we’re all going away anyway
I can’t take another goodbye
so don’t say
don’t stay
All these lights lock my brain
always wired
the humming in my brain
the smell of piss on the streets
cuz everyone forgets their heads
drunk to forget