Tomorrow When I Awake as God
Tomorrow I will awake as God
You may mistake my mien at first,
The long gold robes and streams of light
Bursting from my finger tips
And spreading in halos behind my head
Will dazzle you, confuse you too,
And distract your eyes from this face you knew.
Also I'll not be wearing glasses,
Tomorrow, when I awake as God.
The streams of worshippers at my door
Will make it hard to see my face,
In fact you should make an appointment now
As I'll be up to my halo, once I awake.
Gurus in robes, shaved, painted heads,
Enlightened masters dripping prayers and incense,
Come to my door, to stare in awe
At this Man made God, as they call, ‘Encore!’
They be comin’ to my house, all of the denominations,
Comin’ for to be confessin’ all of their mistaken
Methods of belief, and the way that they been thinking,
Askin’ if it too late to be changin’ their religion
Trade their views, their creed, their hues,
I ask them to wait in the kitchen
You see there a couple of really nearly virgins
Waiting for my blessing’, they not needin’ any urgin’
Ready for to worship on my slightly stainy mattress
And I will neglect none in my omnipotent magnificence
Tomorrow, when I awake as God.
CH: See the sun, bursting thru the fresh-made skies,
See the power, spinning star-like in my eyes,
See the planets I created just for you
See the love in my blazing heart like a tattoo
See the millions falling at my feet
See the cold clay, transformed into living meat,
See the love, feel the love that I create - for you
And I will rise...
Tomorrow I will awake as God
And all non-believers will burn in Hell,
As will all who mock or mimic the way
I speak or walk or motion or talk,
And God knows (that's me), there are plenty of them.
And I'll be
Bigger and badder and better and grander,
Cooler and stronger and righteous and longer
Jehovah and Allah, Jah, Almighty
I'll show you mercy, if you’ll let me,
Pester, molest, attest to the best,
Represent my heaven sent intent,
Get down on your knees and pray,
Behave, be nice and I might relent.
Omniscient me, it’s kissable me,
Unmissable me, on yer knees and pray X2
CH:
Tomorrow I will awake as God
So ye, ye of little faith
Of impure thought and unsavoury taste,
Who mock and take my name in vain,
Spit upon my soon to be immortal body,
Now is the time to reconsider
Your foolish words and deeds and thoughts
And start to make some swift amends,
Prepare your prayers and apologise,
Make your peace and treat me nice,
With prostrate repentance and tearful treaties,
Expensive offerings and sacrifice,
Or you'll be bloody, bloody sorry,
Tomorrow when I awake as God.
OMG
O God, are you not bored shitless?
watching us make the very same witless
mistakes, again, again, again,
lain up there on your universe futon,
a tacky confetti of stars on your duvet,
praying that we’ll get it right as once again we do wrong.
My God, are you not bored dumb?
Eternal, unchanging must be a drag after
a few, a millennium or two,
where you could do anything, but nothing to do,
all-knowing leaves you with nothing to learn
and your number one status leaves nothing to yearn for.
O God, I pity your stasis.
O God, you’re not much of a chatterer
my other grand imaginary friends give much better
feedback, although they’re figments of my sole imagination
not a bearded fragment of a mass hallucination
when I talk to friends no-one else can see but me
shrink think I got disorder, multiple personality
but when I talk to you, God, people think it’s great
so it’s good to have an unreal mate,
a mate who everybody rates
even if he never make man act the way his teachings state.
So God, is that why you've left us to it?
Our brutal mistakes, each chance we just blew it,
each time we choose dogma, self, power, blood,
not tolerance, knowledge or common good
so fair enough, you thought, 'Fuck it, they're shafted,'
lay back to your fly's-eye all-seeing catharsis,
but unlike you, we are able to change
so I pity you, God, and your omniscient sight,
though we die, raging into that terrible night,
we can do wrong, and realise, and then do it right.
So your majestic, mysterious mind wonders how we cope
stumbling blind, without foresight – but that’s what leaves us hope.
Kalashnikov
I am promiscuous, I feel no shame
I’m held by many lovers – their bodies pass away
In cool rooms I’m caressed by strong hands
They trust me implicitly, I will not let them down.
They know when they pass on – I will remain.
I am cold and hard, but you should feel me burn
When you squeeze me in that way my lips turn to fire
Spitting molten kisses, that mark you deep
Cradled in rough arms in hotel bedroom or rubble strewn street.
I feel no shame, the lovers pass on – only I remain.
I feel no loss! Kaleshnikov.
I spit on pity, cackle at the heavens.
Head tipped back, lips on fire,
I feel no loss – Kaleshnikov.
I know no God, Kaleshnikov,
I feel no loss, I see no love,
I know no God, Kaleshnikov,
I know no God…
Prometheus
You bastard. You lit a fire in me,
laid a tongue of flame against touch paper
then blew hot breath on the pink jewelled ember,
You lit me. You ignited me
dripped sweaty paraffin until long licks
of flame lapped hot along my trembling legs
Sent flickering fingers tickling up
the knots of muscle sparking up
the straw dry tender kindling of nerve endings,
set driftwood knots of spine alight,
twists of sinew, curling tight
as twirls of smoke unquenchab-ly spreading,
You bastard. You lit a fire in me,
laid a tongue of flame against touch paper
then blew hot breath on the pink jewelled ember,
You lit me. You ignited me
flowing firey through my tinder body
scorched my heart and you’re not even sorry
My self control was razed to dust
as this wild conflagration burst
into the wildest firework explosion
of light and fire and sound and scent
till tumbling back, my body spent,
I sink to smouldering dreams of wild confusion.
But now you'd give this fire to any slut who smiles at you, you shit,
this precious prize is mine and I want no-one even touching it
yes now you'd give this fire to any slut who smiles your way, you shit,
this precious gift is mine and I’ll have no-one even tasting it.
You deserve to have your liver daily torn through stomach wall,
you deserve the chains that fix you to this fossil heart of stone,
you deserve an eagle tearing through your skin, your flesh, your bone,
to give this gift so freely, that once was mine alone.
Yes, you deserve to have your liver daily torn through stomach wall,
you deserve the chains that fix you to my fossil heart of stone,
you deserve a harpy tearing through your skin, your flesh, your bone,
to give this gift so freely, that once raised me to the gods.
Crow
I feel my legs receding,
My toes curling into claws
My head shrinking, bluntening, hardening into corners,
My lips ossify into a pointed, pick axe beak
My whisper fossilising into a harsh-throated caw.
I can feel my arms extending
Bones splintering into wings,
My fingers atrophying into
Feelingless, sleek guiding fins,
My pores splayed wide at the raped extrusion
Of black feathers thrusting through the skin
My eyes turned golden, their focus on
The earth's little, wriggling things
CH. I have become less than human,
I have become more - CRO-O-W! CROW!
My ragged form eclipses the sun,
Throws scarecrow shadows on the earth below - CROW! CROW!
The bar girl screamed when I woke her from slumber,
My claws drawing blood from her pale breasts,
And the peck on the cheek I meant to be tender
Left scars even nurofen and gin could not render
Whole, I could not persuade her
I meant it as a soft caress.
CH.
I am loved by no-one, but I am always present,
Blown ragged by the raging storm,
A black cloud on your sunny day,
I am carrion, pecking at the eyes
of your new born.
We see your savage little games,
Obsessed by cost, ignorant of worth,
Our conspiracy huddles closer -
One day we'll sweep you from our earth.
Pandora’s Box
Once, long ago, when short-armed
Chimps learnt to think, organised their thoughts into
A pattern of repeated squeaks
A box was opened by Pandora
n the minds of our Neanderthal ancestors
From the chest a thousand shadowy desires and terrors
Poured out batwinged, bearclawed,
Wolf-fanged, lockjawed, bird-feathered
Real and unimaginable,
From Pandora’s box were loosed on this world.
Ch. Learn – there’s nothing but stars in the sky above,
The clouds are not chariots for warring Gods
Below our feet just earth and mud,
Man is mankind’s – only – demon and God;
There’s only stars in the skies above.
They invented a scraping of stone on stone,
This writing, crab steps in wet sand,
To record their lives, their fears and failings, dreams and plans,
Creating gods to fight and protect them from
Their own invented Daemons
Ch.
So sat here in a Peruvian museum of the Inquisition
Being told of the tolerance of the Catholic superstition
This justification of her misuse and glorification
Makes obvious Torquemada and our current fears are one tradition
Shows how these old fairy tales are used to create new divisions
How intolerance of human difference forms new inquisitions
Makes obvious how it happened back then, and how it’s happening again and again…
When we pit our own invented deities
Against each other, it’s against humanity
And the monsters from Pandora’s nightmare
Will not be chained again – until we …Ch.
A Silkie's Tale
Come here, kid, listen up and I'll tell
A tale that'd make a shark's ma weep,
It's all true, about how I fell
In love and journeyed from the deep –
She leant close in her cripple chair
Her rheumy eyes like limpets,
A foam of spittle on her chin
A wrinkled hand upon my hair
Pressed down – Sit,
And I'll begin.
She gave an aching, tidal sigh. I pulled away
From reek of tinned sardine and bitter gin –
My god, but he was beautiful that day
We met – her steel rimmed wheels against my skin
Her fishnet latticed palm upon my neck –
As he reeled in the line I knew
My heart was pierced
Sharp as that hook
That tore the fish's mouth in two
And worse.
He kept my silkie skin, I never planned
To stay so long, far from the sea
But we were right enough on land
Till now I need what's mine returned to me
For I'm a queen of silkies, royal sea blood, and
I must see my kingdom while I'm strong
Enough to find my fins,
Cast off these useless feet of sand
I'll dive and sing sea songs
And swim...
And that was when I pushed her from her
Creaking metal fishbone chair and ran
In terror, sure she was not silkie nor a mer-
Maid, just a mad old bird who stank
Of seaweed, putrid fish and unwashed hair,
But that same day her cripple chair was found
Upended on the shore, waves breaking clear
Across the bows, no sign of her
But a strange song that sounded
Keening in my ear.
Spinning Round the Sun
Beaten again
We trace the tracks of the sun’s journey through the sky
I can’t explain
Can’t convince you with my evidence why
Your knowledge based on gospel and ancient conviction you are right
you cry that we lie at the universe’s centre point
The sun has always spun around us, we have been taught this
Reason has no chance against centuries of prejudice
CH: The reflection of the sun on moving water
blinds us to the approaching shore
While the dark pall of clouds looming behind us
Remain fearfully fixed, frightfully secure
I’m beaten again
You’ve the arms and the authority to prove yourself right
I can’t explain
Science, theory or observation have no commerce with Papal might
So set my flesh alight for my blasphemy to call you wrong
I cannot force the blind to see but I will not run
CH
And as you’re stacking up the wood
As you’re tightening my bonds
As you light my pyre
As your gospel proves me wrong
The earth continues spinning,
Spinning round the sun
Goodbye Bonny and Clyde
Sharing a cigarette in the rain
B+H nicked from your Dad again
Huddled close in the grave yard, under blood red stains
Fugitive hearts in a teenage fiction
I knew I felt something but it wasn't religion
Ready to leap in, ready to hide
We felt like Bonny and Clyde
Walking home together when the party ends
Light in the sky it's 4 am
It makes the jetstream look pink as the fresh scar on your hand
Our parents won’t let us out for days
Probably called out the cops again, as always
But they'll never keep us locked inside
We felt like Bonny and Clyde
Breaking into our old School
Through the skylight, just for something to do
Driving that borrowed car
too fast, too late, too soon.
Spending afternoons lying up on the heather
Didn't speak, we just knew we'd spend our whole lives together
Your breath so hot on mine love filled our bodies and minds
We felt like Bonny and Clyde
Never knew this was a game you could win or lose
We weren’t playing by their stupid rules
The two of us against the whole world outside
Just like Bonny and Clyde
No police had to gun us down
We did it ourselves, armed with time and this no hope town
Doesn't matter how bright your light shines when you're under ground
Now you've got a kid and I've got a proper job
I never cut that CD I was always talking of
I've not phoned in a year or met the man you profess to love
The years have blown our dreams to tatters
Ripped bullet holes through all that ever mattered
We'll no more lie, stretched side by side
Goodbye Bonny and Clyde
Welcome to Guantanamo Holiday Camp
Five stars – you can count them spinning
Round your head after re-education
Five scars – in attractive burn marks
After a session of nerve stimulation
There are keep fit classes with batons and weights
Fun sports like water boarding for free
State of the art muscle toning machines
Involving electrodes and electricity
It’s all fun! There’s sun everyday
Party bracelets, ankle jewellery, great quiz games
But somehow the answer’s always wrong
Thought the question constantly remains the same
They want to know about some guy called Al – Al Qaida? You can call me Al!
CH: So welcome! To a once in a lifetime holiday
Rubber hoses, suntan and power jet spray
It’s a full on education in democracy
Welcome to the party, Guantanamo Bay!
Relax! Forget the stresses of life!
Don’t worry ‘bout your home, job or wife
All such pressures are taken away
By your green suited reps at Guantanamo Bay.
Extensive weight loss guaranteed
Orange leisure suits supplied absolutely free
Sight seeing tours, a mystery expedition
Taking in up to fourteen countries – it’s an extraordinary rendition
CH
Here’s the reward – for those who threaten our freedom of speech
Here’s the reward – for those who threaten our right to be free
Here’s the reward – for those who threaten our freedom to trade
Here’s the reward – against the right of fair trial by jury
Here’s the reward – For those who claim there’s another way
Than global free market economy
Here’s the reward – a punishment of irony
To be locked up and tortured, no lawyer, no choice, no vote, no voice, on the evidence of hearsay,
To teach the justice and immaculate beauty of Jesus and free market democracy
Yeah, yeah, yeah, do the Guantanamo shuffle,
Shake your shackles along
Yeah, yeah, yeah, do the Guantanamo shuffle,
You’ll soon be singing this song!
Civic Architecture of the Heart
When she left him the planner became obsessed.
Every time he started to sketch a new design
he could not exorcise her from his aching mind
the sweep of a street entering into a crescent
became the curve where her thigh met her buttock,
the circle of a roundabout
was the hollow of her belly button
and the cupola of the new town hall
doubled each time he tried to design it
to rise as her perfect soft-domed breasts.
He lay awake night after night trying to fight off his obsession,
to drive it away, as he’d driven her away,
until exhaustion and sadness weakened his brain;
she crept back in and he crept back to work again.
Colleagues noticed at once a change
his logical, numbered street systems had gone awry,
grown over with organic curves
and hollows and hummocks and vegetations
and his town grew seemingly without process
of grid and block or long cogitation.
The town planner worked like one possessed,
the designs seemed to flow from somewhere inside his breast,
looking to something greater than the town itself,
the curved boulevards, slim, shapely avenues
curling through then into ankle slim alleys,
to elegant crescents like ladies’ insteps,
as if this were part of a greater design.
Far to the north five crooked lanes,
joined at a square smooth as an opened palm
leading down the street to an elbow like bend,
then along to the fuzz of a light-wooded hollow
where school boys may hide from sight for a fag,
or young lovers kiss, away from the streetlights –
the planner pauses from his frantic scribbling
and presses his nose to the translucent paper,
trying to conjure up a lost scent –
then continues on a sweep of lawn
rising gently to the twin glass domes
of the botanical gardens, beneath their rooves
tendrils writhe and seethe and wrap around
themselves in steaming, choking embrace.
The plans are universally acclaimed
and the building starts at once, the drains
and the skeleton of foundations and concrete bases
for arteries and veins of roads and rivers and alleyways
to be built on to, waving tendrils of roads in rays
spreading away from the town’s head,
a pointed spire of church with twin naves
and the open mouth of the sunken, subterranean market,
a gaping breach opening above it to sky,
where the town supplies will be fed in and traded,
are swiftly erected and excavated.
All is complete and the town planner
lives in a house he has built in the heart,
a little below the botanical gardens,
a short walk from the button lake
and down to the woods of the graveyard,
the river running from it rising in a monthly flood
between the beautiful V of the shapely twin avenues
leading to the lower town, each house with views
as individual as a fingerprint.
One day a stranger brings her children –
she’s heard of its charm and beauty –
and at once is enchanted, at once it feels familiar,
she feels that she could drive the lanes blindfolded,
anticipate their every turn.
She parks and they walk in the botanics,
admire the domes, the gentle hills and soft grass smoothly covering.
She walks on, following the brook, feels somehow drawn to a home
she’s never seen before, yet at once feels like she’s always known.
The planner stands outside the entrance,
He beckons, opens wide door, smiles:
‘I always knew you’d come,’ he says.
The river seems to rush to the throb of her own heartbeat.
Powerless she leaves her children behind and steps inside.
With a solid clunk the doors close tight.