Leash - Jam Baxter

Forty four flies on leashes and you wonder why they act this way

With a collar wrapped tight round their necks pulling down

Left one sole choice for a landing bay

The flies on your face ain’t leaving

Have an outstanding day with forty four knots in your hair

Fly swatting with the retarded fat cats catching prey

Forty four flies on leashes, you wonder why they chat this way

When the leather’s wrapped tight round their necks chained down

Trying to use your face as a landing bay

The flies in your mouth aren’t moving

Have an outstanding stay with forty four pests in the air

Fly swatting like a tangled arachnid catching prey

I am no Mister Miyage on a chopstick hype with a bowl full of insects

I am not a part of your hotbed of rulebooks burn to a mountain of smouldering

incest

I’m not equipped to pick wings off you lot and smear your remains on the walls

Like blood red warnings staining the halls of the paper mache cage made for you

all

Nah, are you buzzing?

Dumb question

Rhetorical in part yet relevant

To your six bruk legs and your saucepan of gumed up nights stewed down to the

sediment

Scraped up sculpted and sold as a human

Second hand skin still delicate

Bought from an alleyway salesman the layrs peeled off to reveal a disgusting

development

Damn who laid these eggs in my eyes again?

If I boil them alive would you die for them?

Your machinery can’t turn flies to men

Best kill them on arrival then

I’ll be a drugged out mess when the cycle ends

Let these eyeballs wrinkle and crack

Till I wake one morn shrunk down on the ceiling

To find four cellophane wings on my back

The skies kept flies on leashes, and they wonder why we act this way

With a collar wrapped tight round our necks pulling down

Left one dead town for a landing bay

The flies at the gates ain’t leaving

Have an outstanding day with the beggars and the drunks in a dumb

Fly swatting like a retarded fat cat catching prey

The skies kept flies on leashes, you wonder why they chat this way

When the leather’s wrapped tight round their necks chained down

Trying to use this city as a landing bay

The flies on the ground ain’t moving

Have an outstanding stay with the mentally marred in a yard

Fly swatting with the drunken arachnids catching prey

I will not move when the sky pukes dark clouds billowing across false borders

I will not morph to a tin man sobing on a hand me down sket when the gods get

nauseous

I will not feed this obese gang of pigs with a singular slice of myself

When my face thaws out and the icicles melt

And the pavements finally felt the uncomfortable tickle of an insect dancing

Across a dark street

With the inbreds marching

SLAP!

That’s another one

Pin him to the frame with the other ones

Ain’t that charming

Wahgwan starlets, gas fuelled bastards, picket sign punch bags, hand made

martyrs

How’s that revolution of yours moving?

Limp fish swing for the steel pinatas

'Fly my pretties!'

setting up camp in the rolls of fat

In the belly of the city with a bowl of smack

Like a sundried prune with a soul attached

Fall prey to an infants thumb

Brain swelling in elastic skin

Till I wake one morn fully formed eyes golden

And let them all buzz till the fat bitch sings

I can sort of sense it all sweetening in hind sight

Regurgitated sugar faded pictures of the high life

I told 'em peace peace slipped the razor out and sliced twice

Slash the leash leash I told them live fast and fly right

Yeah, I told them live fast and fly right

Yeah, I told them live fast and fly right

I told them live fast and fly right

Slash the leash leash I told them live fast and fly right