The Angels are a hurricane

ripping through the barley grain,

the dust bowl stirs a saviour’s name

summoned forth to bring the rain.

On such wings news takes flight

the down-trod flex their ancient right,

across the red tops headlines scream

you wake to find it's not a dream.

Apparitions shine like turds,

follow them into the drain

they wash away like p...

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god has gone

but man lives on

to sing to him

in hymnal song

like fallen tree

in vacant wood

no roots where once

foundations stood

don't build upon

the shifting sand

in hope that god

might still his hand

the church hall scowls

with empty chairs

for like the wood

there's no one there

so in obeyance

man see's the light

and follows on

as...

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I am a little AI bitch

I make the fucking keyboard itch

I have a brain but it's no good

not sparking where the neurons should

I've sold my species out for tech

last human on the burning deck

though I can make a couplet rhyme

it's just not worth my fucking time

not contain bollocks

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