Fire through the gateway

My London's burning.

My London's burning.

I feel exhausted, remorseful, dirty and kicked aside.

I see a throbbing, swelling, bloody bruising arrive.
I hear a bell, a fighter screaming, a bullet shearing
...as it hits your side.
I smell rotten, retorted peeling of moldy weathered flesh,
...the lower Thames tide.
I taste a bitter sweetness, a potent venom, a depressed justification
...of lives.
I sense my losses, i hurt for you, who has lost more than
i would have ever had.

Feel my pulsating train of pain, feel my sanity holding the cracked weathered bonds of my heart together,
Feel extinguished when i call your name dustily, with my croaked attempt at a harmony,
Feel fatigued, and watch me castrate your patience by using little words and little movement.

London is burning. The greatest city on Earth, whos Earth? Yes.
Her walls have been breached by a flood of parasitic little feet;
pitter patter of them as they crawl all over my concious, and
a hearty lunch to throw from borders. My vision is impaired.
Albion is a'stormed with wine: Waterloo now pisses from it's ears,
and it's hearing is impaired.

And i drink for what i have lost, from the fountains i lost it from.

And i sit at the end of this garden, on a bow
shapen, pain stricken log, toppled by insanity


- and watch my fire through the gateway. With nobody to watch it with me.