The return 

I think this new world is crap,
  Every-thing’s cheap nasty tat.
 All put together by mongs,
 One use and it’s broken.
I want to stand on a mountain,
And shout.
 There’s no air so nothing comes out,
Just quiet contemplation,
Of all the loved ones long gone.
 Exhaling regret ,
And all I’ve done wrong.
    
I just want to see the good shit return,
 Not this cheap imitation poem.
 But as I stand in this tiny room…

 People walk around like machines,
 With their faces glued to theses screens.
 Ignoring the world as it turns,
 And the plight of the masses.
I look at them like they are fly’s,
They bounce off my car,
And then die.
More food for the badgers to eat.
As the cull brings them closer.
The separate worlds will collide.
 And only one will survive.

 They want to see their planate returned,
Before they’re all gassed and burned.
And all the students run,
And fuck off to mummy.
With their washing and designer rags.
Fixxy bikes and hand rolled fags.
As I stand here alone,  I love every second.

 I think I’m plane out of luck,
You cut up my card now I’m fucked.
 On a blind date with no way to pay.
I stand here in silence.
The fear keeps me pinned to the spot,
 I see nothing but pain and loss.
Of a life revolving round cash,
 Fails to win and then dies on its ass.

 They want to see thatcher’s return,
 But she’s senile in a funny farm.
Waiting to be hexed and burned,
With time not on our side,
I’m counting the seconds Until the return.