The tool weilding giant, stamping on all else then stabbing himself, the crumpling mass of terror underfoot, the arrogant selfish self made nature monkey. (I couldn�t think up a title � so I didn�t)

The vacant roar of a dead lioness
comes wilting through my ears
the silence of extinction
ghosts through my hollow years

In a bustling valley of living tissue
I�m the only scar
Disjointed landscape, yellow lakes
Bleeding, scolded, sour.

In the maze for money I sweep aside a million years
Drilling, screeching,
wounding, reeping
killing

the false blood

The living, breathing forest
ripped to standing stumps
The empiness that follows
where stone cold buildings slump

tides of tarmac engulf the �earth�
swirling carparks soar
surfing
splintered, shattered, sore

An ocean of rubble lays upturned
The pounding of my steel
The diggers faded years ago
The gash will never heal

the bank escilates

My bulging pockets explode
The numbers in the bank rise
splinter

Death in my rear view mirror
jumbled up remains.
A glancing smile about it all


A crumpled path lays behind, yet i stand strong.
A desert of upheval trails, yet I�ll push on.



We can�t murder each other
But we kill all.
Chopping down a hegerow
or just doing fuck all

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////fffffffffffff ////////////////////////////////////////

A bruised and broken landscape
shitted from my arse
Infront of me, is greenery
I�ll eat and strip my path

Some people protest at the route I take
But there on the back of the death wagon,
Not in the driving, business end

They go where they are taken
Or jump into the wounded wilderness

Numbers don�t meen jot if they aren�t in power

Piloted by
It aint an even race.

A dirty boardroom meeting
driving seat with fat cigars
clinging on to trees

in rags
it wont get far
Outside species die. 
Money in the distance - I�ll be alright.
In the city the drivers
Infront  my eyes  /a sleeping rino

are used
for money.

A stream of human waste spreding to the sea.

elaborate systems that lead to the sea.

I shis, the power
hyrocioa bomb
life is trampled on
but it helps with the economy.

I can live without air if we have the money that drives me on.
I sufforcate in my palace
and then I think that I was wrong. 

We are all cells. Part of a giant killing machine. If some of the cells stop then the beast will remain the same. If everyone changed then we�d evolve into a new creature. In truth the cells are not the same. It only takes a few cigar wielding nannies at the top of the chain, the capitalist brain, to change then the rest of us Joe smucks who they don�t give a fuck about (apart from our contribution to their wallet) would be taken along on the clean wand to a magical planet where we�re free from most of this and seaguls shit buckets full of ice cr�me.

Still it�s better than communisum. That�s just fucked up!

A crumpled path lays behind, yet i stand strong.
n