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Oh children of the future |
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conceived in the toilets at Meadowhall |
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to be raised on the cheap cold slabs of garage floors |
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rolling empty cans down the stairway |
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(don't you love that sound?) |
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whilst the thoughts of a bad social worker ran through his head |
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trying to remember what he learnt at training college |
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Lester said he wasn't allowed in here |
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so why don't you get lost? |
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And if you grow up |
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then when you grow up, maybe |
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maybe you can live |
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live on Kelvin |
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yeah you can live in Kelvin |
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on the promenade with the concrete walkways |
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where pidgeons go to die |
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A woman on the fourteenth floor noticed that the ceiling was bulging as if under a great weight. |
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When the council investigated they discovered that the man in the flat above had transported a large |
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quantity of soil into his living-room, in which several plants he had stolen from a local park were |
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growing. When questioned, the man said all he wanted was a garden. |
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When questioned, the man said all he wanted was a garden. |
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Oh God, I think the future's been fried |
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deep fried in Kelvin |
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and now it's rotting behind the remains of a stolen motorbike |
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I haven't touched it, honest |
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but there isn't anything else to do |
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we don't need your sad attempts at social conscience |
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based on taxi-rides home at night when exhibition opens |
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we just want your car radio |
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and those Reflux speakers |
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now |
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suffer the little children to come to me |
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and I will tend their adventure playground splinters with cigarette burns |
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and feed them fizzy orange and chips |
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and then they grow up straight and tall |
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and then they grow up to live |
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on Kelvin |
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Oh yeah |
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We can have ghettos too. |
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only we use air-rifles instead of machine-guns. |
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Stitch that. |
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And we drunk driving lights. |
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In the end |
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the question you have to ask yourself is |
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are you talking to me |
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or are you |
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chewing a brick? |
