He sat in the doorway  Of the dead superstore  The rain fell over the night  His guitar has no strings  He plays on Feeling the notes Strumming the rhythm  No sound but the rain He moans out the chords  To the empty street  Muffled by the rain

You are the fart In the elevator In the cinema In the sauna   You are flatulence personified And yet you go flat Like bubble-less champagne Warm like piss Left in the death of afternoon   You are the politician In the pay of the billionaire Bought Ready to sell the people For scrap   You...