The grey and damp clouds seem like my insides
More truly how I feel and how I dream
The kidneys squeeze the abscess of my life
A feel of water,wisdom truth and lies
The holy spirit from the mountain streams
The grey and damp clouds look like my insides
Post modern narratives each strive
To be a truth but not The Truth,it seems
While kidneys sieve the poison from my life
Now there are no husbands, are there wives?
In bitterness the different groups each scheme
The grey and damp clouds ,Britain’s own insides
I try love once and then I try it twice
I am very generous, what,I’m mean?
My kidneys sieve the poison from my life
What are atoms, what indeed are genes?
What are photons,where’s your mother been?
The grey pink of the clouds seems to deride
The struggling kidneys feel I am with knives