What’s it like? they ask.
Lots of space debris I reply: this music
has been written by psychologists.
‘My name is Vera Lute, from Truth or Consequences.’
Some wander all their days
and never find the river.
So many lives are wasted and no one knows why.
That sounds to me like a crime.
Tell the BBC in confidence,
tell the golfing correspondent from Angling Times:
there were days when my heart was sore
and it always seemed to be raining.
Now there’s too much to be angry about,
and no one left to forgive.
I’m the atheist at the bishop’s conference.
I’m the fly in the ointment on the wall.
On and on down the dirty decades.
Nothing as described in the brochure,
as promised on the party platform
and nothing but bullshit to listen to.
My country is falling off the back of a lorry
but I bear you no malice, Alice.
What I’m in is chagrin. It’s late,
I’m out on the road, running on empty.
And I’m calling you in.
I’m calling you in.