This ones in time to Morning Has Broken - that fine hymn- and contains some obscure, though fascinating references that may be tracked via complex signals and signs in a kind of 'Da Vinci code' type manner in the Sunday supplement magazine adverts for lifelike dolls and plates with pictures of Native American chiefs on called 'Spirit of the Breath of the Howling Wolf of Time' - or somesuch. Good luck on your quest...
The Centaurs are here, they are everywhere and they run our world. This is their song.
Centaurs awaken, Centaurs of London
Prepare for the journey, onward we march
Stick out your arse cheeks, stick out your headsets
Let everyone know what an arsehole you are
Marching together, a flotsam of losers
Centaurs are trotting, millions strong
Arses like sofas, manners like goats they
Chatter and scoff like the insects they are
Mine is the Centaur, mine is the Lemming
Born of the skunks arse out from the beak
Snorting their powder, flashing their plastic
These jokers need culling, pass me the sword.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment