A familiar taste sits
in my throat as I walk home at night. Letting my mind wonder as the
streetlights stretch across my vision in a blurry orange beige
spectrum, I contemplate on what the taste might be, but it is too
unnatural to define as something organic. I let my legs stagger
forward as my senses smelt together a complex pattern of ideas and
thought. I hear myself groan as my feet kick the curb of the road,
but the sound is detached, an automatic response to environment. The
utterance is nothing more but dust on the skin of my independent
society; My unique brain complex that leaks colour onto the road.
Hallucinations of music vibrate kindly, entertaining my thirsty mind,
bored of walking.
Nation down! Story uncovered and
Flood the wooden gates
Fragile from decay
Tear down the streetlights
Shinin' on old grey:
(The squares with the statues
Remind of old history
A memorial misery
The burden it weigh.)
Old meaningful morals and
Of a tower of lies.
As debris flies.
Battered homes lay
Under the siege.
Blocked roads, homeless people
A chorus of hunger, a screech.
Like a dying body
Body erodes to bone
City erodes to ruin.
Nation down everybody.
Down, down, down and gone.