7 a.m. Black Boy Lane Pulsating pain again in my brain Empty stomach empty pockets no food for four days Look both ways cross the street stumble and sway Phone box cheap whore cocksure cock-sucker for sure Glue bag takes a sniff and shudders sustenance and succor Slap the shit on the bill slap the bill on the wall Slap my ass for 5 quid slap yours for 10 give me a call 0181 959 7525 Do you do two do what it takes to stay alive Dead on the inside outside is numb Track marks down thighs up arms sheep eyes stunned Car headlights black night backwoods lane Back alley MD coat hanger shame and pain No blame no class cut knees on the broken glass Cut the junk glut the spunk forget the past Meanwhile I got problems of my own, I’m out of speed Heed the monkey no money to feed the need Slide discreet like into a shop clock the guard move deft Knock over a display causing distraction make the theft Open the duffle bag snuffle and gag I hate cologne Move fast not too fast head for the flagstones Flagon from inside pocket to left hand down the hatch Fuel up long hike downtown to the sell the catch 3 days later on speed time 2 hours in reality Stink bottles sold to a greasy Turk in a dodgy grocery Pocket’s off the bend time for me to get back on it Call pusher – overanxious bee in my bonnet Livin like a dog in the London smog Pall Mall in my maw seesaw for a jaw And the writing on the wall’s in letters six feet tall Dead fingers don’t lie dead fingers don’t talk Livin like a dog in the London smog Pall Mall in my maw seesaw for a jaw And I think to myself oh my god is this all? Exhale- only dead fingers talk in braille 2 days or an hour and a half later score’s been made Pink champagne smell of oranges like marmalade Brings tears to my eyes brain buzzes like locusts Count to 3 time stops gaze snaps back into focus Make a mental note - this is the last time I’ve heard that before – voice of the divine Trees look greener now sky’s more blue People are fuzzier though, like seen through the haze of a barbecue Ectoplasmic monsters have taken over the streets All teeth and viscous slime dripping from head to feet Evil eyes are watching me I gotta get away I can’t take much more of this my nerves are gettin frayed I think I’ll pop in to the pub maybe here I’ll feel a bit safer Startin to get a bit jumpy out in these big open spaces Too much happening off on the edge of my peripheral vision Door opens out, not in –bang – collision Slide over to the bar - watch the jaw - stay cool Clack-clack from the backroom someone’s playin pool I put my ass on the stool can’t sit still start to fidget Jump to my feet eyes straight ahead - ignore the midget Bartender pint ‘a lager I’ll be right back Crinkle of cellophane, Bank of Scotland – this time’s the last Move fast, beer’s waiting, don’t wanna look suspicious Slick hair smooth like Fonzerelli smack the bubblicious With this oh so delicious rush of amphetamine Libido increase, speed warp factor ten Stand up at the bar, far too wired to sit Down beer in 2 gulps light a fag and have a coughing fit Up comes a lung, palpating green glob on the floor I think I’ve outstayed my welcome, I make for the door Flashback – out not in – fetid air – London Zoo Smell of hash – gasp and crash knees on grass – I think I’m gonna spew reverbnation/djphoneywithinternationalcriminal/song/17797522-dead-fingers-dont-talk
Posted on: Fri, 28 Jun 2013 10:34:42 +0000
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