Bad Worn Thing - Wire

Jam sandwich filled with Uzied peelers

Frisking pimps and dawn car dealers

The Fat Controller’s transport inches

When stealing lives, he never flinches

Observe the poker party aces

In champagne bars, unlikely spaces

Unnerving, swerving shifty places

Where little works or convinces

Follow me!

No explanation

The future sold, the Chancellor paces

The growing pains, associated

With a past which no-one faces

They clip their speech

They clip your wings

The absent tribe

Of missing links

The absolute

Of vodka kings

The over crowded

Nature of things

It’s a bad worn thing!