Death to the wheels
Beneath
Heavy weight tanks
Atop oil rich
Kingdoms
Serving blood money
Suppers
To thieves

Death to the ands
Clutching
Cold metal case,

Finger triggers
Held tight
Against
Small minds
In thick skulls

Death to the fire
Inside
Chugging engines
Directed at
The poorest
Soldiers
On the poorest
streets

Death to the sythe
Palmed
In the white hands
Of death
Bribed
By the influence
Of ruling
Gods

Death to the wine
Torturing
Sunday service
Choirs
Through gold leaf
Sheets
Held tight
Over mouths

Death to the pigs
Feet
Presiding over
Innocent heads
On guilty streets
Batons and badges,
Death
To
The
Pigs

Dave Cullern is not a poet. He does not live amongst the decaying remains of the English seaside and does not sing in any bands called Haest. He certainly isn’t a childless cat mother who enjoys black coffee, dancing and vice, I really can’t stress that enough.
Instagram @fuckballads