The eagle has landed, has
Branded itself the new emperor ... and it's
Beak is so vast and so vile that it can't hide the
Smile that it casts like a creek through that rag on a
Rope, up a mast, that they've got up their arse, that they,
Hope is a flag but it's not, so they grasp for some
God, but He's dead or asleep, so instead they just
Grope at their guns, and they
Hop and they skip and they jump and they run and they
Leap to the edges of madness, and stop. At the
Ridges they wait, they throw bait to the wind and they
Wind themselves up and get hungry for something to
Happen. The eagle, you see, needs a weapon, a
Web round it's nest to prevent all the sun and the
Flies getting through that might alter the hue of it's
White, flightless son. Who
Can't lift a finger without some machine like a trigger. The
Dragon however, and Bear disapprove, and they
Whisper and move to get nasty.
Both of them thirsty for power - they're cranking up
Louder that song on the box with some guy going
On about not having nothing and not having
Nothing to loose. But
Nero's new bathroom in Washington don't have no
Windows. It's sound-proof and Nero is napping.
The Bear now is snapping his teeth and rapping his
Thumbs on a sickle of pride - there's a trickle of
Blood running still from the wound in his side in the
Shape of a star and he bellows and barks out for
Something like order. Or Honour. Or trust. But the
Bird's got its head in some
Bush, and it cushions its ears ...
so it just doesn't hear shit.
Near it the Dragon lies coiled and curious,
Oiled with furious cunning.
Running her ruby red tongue in vexed little circles,
Among her porcelain teeth.
Inside her a billion babies there wait to be born.
Will George be sat mourning the
Rangers while round him the White house turns red?
Ah ... but the dangers can
Wait ‘till he's done with his pancakes and eggs.
His good brother Jeb cooked it
Up real good and real glossy ... well my brother
Ned - he is only sixteen but he's wiser than
All of your possy and cleaner than all of your
Knights in their nappies, with
Sight-seeing maps which they
Bought because soon, well, they really
Ought to find chivalry.
Didn't you say that the moon was the only such compass?
Yes. But I think I was lying ... they
Grow it in Texas these days.
Hurry up boys, they're invading through Mexico,
Get to the borders, quick! Get to the Texaco
Stations and wait, for the truckloads to mosey on through ...
Then shoot the shit outta them.
They're giving out pills to the goons with the gold to
Prevent them from getting too old ... too abruptly. The
World should take Ned for example,
I do, and I've ample room for unrest in such resource.
Ha! The
Lion of British nobility, more like a
Kitten you see, she just tries to be cute with everyone. And
Everyone get's rather pissed with opinion-less pissheads. So the
Bird and the Bear and the Lizard, they twist like a
Blizzard and turn upon me in my Lion suit,
Mute in my wizards hat.
Trying to change or explain this or that.
Feeding my hospice of hope with another new joke ...
Every second I'm sat here. Is it
All just another false warning? Another fat
Fanciful wish of mine seeking admission to
History's awning and binding me there ... where
If you go looking my name you'll be finding in
Book number ten of the honourable dead. You
Said that the very front line seemed somewhat un-
Worthy of a life like mine own, funny then that
It should be me who is crying out loud, for per-
mission to be or be given death.
There in my dreams I lie shaking, trying as
Hard as I can to take life from the rest of this
Can full of worms (that I love) and I burn in my
Sleep and I mumble a prayer and I wake.
One day we will
Take it in turns to admit and to then be admitted,
into His arms. But my
Mother's fair name is the one that will float from my
lips as I fade ... and eclipse beyond nothing.
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