Death to the wheels Beneath Heavy weight tanks Atop oil rich Kingdoms Serving blood money
Suppers To thieves Death to the hands Clutching Cold case metal, 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