A song of divine piratical self-overcoming, in Hackney.
The bartender somehow saw through me
The titan in turbans excused me
I made not a move wouldnt you be
Keeping your gunpowder dry?
On a planet where Venus and Mars
Slumped over the bar and Jove’s dealing dope to the gods.
The man that I used to be cowered
Before me her silhouette towered
The barman said god hates a coward
Sweetly and sourly alone
As the universe offers me gallently
A cold singularity
A blackhole where nothing returns.
Demons and ladies
Rescued from Hades
Mount Olympus in hackney
Unrecorded third verse. The intention is, whensoever this wooden demo becomes a real boy, that instead of the flat die, die, die, die part, a slathering epic bedlam of dark joy howls through you instead.
You sir! A midnight stroll!
Through the rubble of your broken soul.
Rise, rise; a goddess is the prize!
If the man that you think you are lays down and dies.
Rise from the world of the man that you knew,
And laugh with the gods as the gods laugh at you!