We’ve never been modern.

We’ve been reading the same news

for years, for boring centuries now.

Then, how would you dare scratching your ugly nails

against that dirty ancient blackboard

of your useless solitude?

We’ve never eaten posh stuff,

our shite has always been safe,

their lenses may become rusty

in and out their mouldy cheesy breath.

We’ve carried our burden with joy,

our pond of flesh,

carriageless, weightlesness as it’s been felt,

and all of a sudden,


we’ve reached Wankers’ Junction 

just to fly happily over your smelly dead bodies.

7 comentarios en “THERE AIN’T NO MODERN LOVERS

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