A Cul-De Sac For The Mind

"A Cull De Sac for the mind"
By "Punk Poet Detectives" Tom Quinton and Marcus Cooke

You're a skid mark in my heart
A damaged flux capacitor
A half baked apple Tart
Your eyes they tell a story
You drag your knuckles across the floor
A first class space cadet
A chemical seeking whore
You walk with a swagger
But you stink of defeat
You're a sun dial in the winter
A pube on a toilet seat
A face like a smacked ass
Your Reality you never see
You've got the Samaritans on speed dial
and you sit down to pee

You put the riff, in riff Raff
the hole in goal
go get yourself a real job
before hate consumes you whole.

You worship your
benefit renewal form
like some sort of Holy Scripture,
but let me put you in the picture,
You’re A scaff
not to be confused with scaffolding
because scaffolding has a purpose.

You got most of your stuff
from a back of a lorry;
you took from society
and never said sorry.
It’s no wonder
your life's gone down the toilet
and poured down the sink,
I see you on street corners
drinking some kind of energy drink.

You were brought in to this world
meant to be finding your own way,
but you’re scabbing of people
and waiting for giro day.

But the punchline  
is harsh
and not so funny
You've  got  
A cul de sac for the mind
Where its cold and not sunny.


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