Hanging from the branches Of bigger dreams The cumulus smudges across the sky beckon us; With hyperbolic grins, we announce It like a party trick I’m going to join the army Be like those ones on TV Those ones with the big guns Me too.
The pencil-scratching, Peeled-back grins of the examiners Revealing jagged pins Pen lids Brown desks. The rush of blood to the head. The summer sun streaming in, Flinging itself across the polished floor to land Upon my outstretched hand. Adrenaline Real adrenaline Lives far from this containment This Corruption.
And now I press my ghostly, outstretched fingers on indifferent walls Whitewashed, you can hear the cold, pulsating heart of death Working its gleeful way under these floors. And now a sadomasochistic streak raises its leering head And tiny box windows look out on concrete grey To keep our claustrophobia at bay.