Dead Riding Hood

Friday comes with issue, drinking with the unhinged.
Who can hold on? Who will fall out their seats?

When it drinks it starts to cry, is it pissed? Or does it lie?
Falling down like Mr Soft, a concrete blocks sick Bambey eyes.
Touching this just kills your pride, or is it Saitns ugly bride?
Next week we’ll leave it’s corps behind, to fight the demons of its mind.

Tortured garish riding hood, storks the cold deserted wood.
When Mr Wolf stays away, and wicked trolls pretend there blind.
Up on the bridge the goats walk free, and wonder why.
The sun tanned trolls fly BMI.
A great excuse for a holyday, when riding hood comes out to play.

I find a house of ginger bread, in a clearing beneath the sky,
Where Brothers Grimm hide in disguise.
And even they couldn’t justify, going that far into the darkest side.
That’s how I felt last Friday, drop this spud and walk away.
What happens once can’t happen twice, 3rd time unlucky.
And you get life.

When it drinks it starts to cry, then I get pissed, and want to die
Waking up on Saturday , still traumatised, by sick Bambey eyes.
Touching this will kills your pride, or is it Saitns ugly bride?
Next week we’ll leave it’s corps behind, to fight the demons of its mind.
©Tuesday, 30 June 2009Alex Kyriacou