It runs amok inside of my head.
It arrogantly prances as if I were dead.
It thumbs its nose whenever I try
to quell its intelligence-insulting lie.

It bleeds the eyes with the morning news.
It voids in me with its monstrous views.
It winds me up as a talking head,
then perturbs me at night when I go to bed.

Sliding along, biding our time,
or still soaking up the trumpeted slime,
...

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windmills

the old windmills

in Spain, slowly turning

large cloth blades

turning and grinding

ancient grains of the past

lined up in a row on a hillside

waiting for Don Quixote

to mistake them for giants

with his sidekick Pancho

he attacked them

only to get his lance

caught in the canvas blades

thought he had been tricked

by an evil...

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(Song for politicians)

There's a...

Great view from my Ivory Tower

The window is frosted, but I still feel the power.

Got my...

Savile suite so I feel the part

But I like to pretend I got it straight from Primark

I feed my…

Flock through the magical lense

My sincere smile upon your telly transcends

And I'm…

Fully trained not to give a ...

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