The morals are immoral
In this age
Of see monkey do
And the poodles
Who perform
Their tricks
On stage
On pillars
On platforms
On posts
Have waxed
Their eyelashes
And learnt
Once more
To prance on
All fours
In outright disagreement
To the waning
Soul
And its idea
Of heavenly suggestion

The fire-eaters
They rub their hands
Toasting on
Their crumbling thrones
And wait for the backlash
Whilst the gods take
A piss
They had this one covered
They nolonger care
Have bigger games to play
With higher stakes
And better odds

And so I wonder
About
The pearly gates
The golden harp
And a seat in the clouds
The trident
The men with hooves
And cloaks of flame

It's all fire and ice
And you'll find me
Sitting
Picking
At what's left
In the watery ash
When all is done

And whether I'll
Know any more
Or have any less to say
Remains
To be seen