28 Staples - Jam Baxter

Found one bullet that can penetrate angels

Looking straight down at these 28 staples

See my age like a semi-buff unhinged bitch in denial that could never stay

faithful

Got the wench in bed with my past with the rave crew bright eyes drenched in

the dark

They were spewing out chewed up news from a few years back, can you hear that?

(Bruv, where the beer at?)

Seventeen teenage kicks to the cranium foot-long wound full of tough titanium

Snapped arm swinging in the Mediterranean, steps to developing the flesh of an

alien

The perils of a rock-star spread with his brains ripped out

When the flames lick round the horizon

The shock set the sea alight freeing every demon I see at night

Skipping on a wave of excitement

It’s strange

Rip every plug from the mains

Excuse my excuses delusional thoughts mix well with the numbness

A cocktail best served dashed in the drain

So retreat, tie up the noose with your teeth

Leap from the black and blue world at your feet

See 'em swing see 'em twitch, I was busy banging chicks getting fucked with the

freaks

And just when you think you surpassed mortality, master of all in a cardboard

galaxy

The last black hole threw my passport back at me, a border control handcuffed

to reality

Bleep bleep, shackle him

Old men in hospital gowns stammering

It just takes one gallon of paraffin

To burn a whole planet of inanimate mannequins

And either, I’ll strike the match for you and back away a diamond encrusted

creature or

We can all morph into plastic in shop front displays at the rave at the front

left speaker

A second rate jesus with scarlet fever turns old single malt to bacardi breezer

on the corner

And talks with a dark demeanor about that regression

Eureka

Summertime and the living was simple, uncut Bolivian and hideous crystal

Star prize for the millionth ring-pull, if its gone too far give me a signal

Taking care of yourself is a mugs game freeze in excitement and melt in the

mundane

I’ll be right here, trippin' out bobbing up and down

Ripping out limbs and I wouldn’t make one change

Well, well, well

I might make one

Shit

Stick around for the ice-age son, son

Slip a bright tin on a soul-snapping par

Yeah, shit, but never pick at that volcanic scar

Stepping in a parallel dimension, filled full of maggots and their paranoid

henchmen

An awkward exchanges by collard up cracks an amputee geeks at the grim-out

convention

Spill out the bedroom, tramp in a slut-suit swing for your outline,

rape your reflection

A pig-headed chef force feeds an infection, a stump-toothed child with a

six-figure pension

Cue for the cheque, the wrinkles on the rips never suited my flesh

I was stretched on a next front page of the rocket fuel catalogue

Smashed mirrors glued to my chest, high-v

Still grimey, slumped in the stocks

Funny how we all must’ve shrunk in the wash

But could never stay clean, forever eighteen

Take 28 reasons to renovate, scream