Your Grandchildren Are Already Fucked (The Silence of Animals)

Dance for maya, dance for dreams
For faked orgasms and hyperreal screams
Put your palms together for Alzheimer’s;
The perfect poetry of Korsakovian slurs
Dance for decapitations, for needles and spoons
Chain-smoking grandfathers sat in painted-shut rooms
Dance for diabetics with the stumps for feet
The black sunset on a silent street
Can you feel the wilt of a world atilt?
Your grandparents are teetering on their morphine stilts
And with a little good luck and every best hope
We might last long enough to see the sun explode
Digging through the landfill on his hands and knees
For a plastic bottle for the new babies
And I’m sure she’ll figure out something to please
The hungry men downstairs with the machetes
Good little puritans born and raised
Making neat little puritans for tidy graves
So place a ring-o-roses, we all fall down
All our cuddles turn to huddles as the lights wink out
Can you feel the wilt of a world atilt?
Your grandchildren are teetering on Citalopram stilts
And with everything long snatched, snaffled or sold
You can’t work out why the young never looked so old
Dance for sternums flowering wide
Ballerinas slumped inside
Take a ticket, single file
Cremulators cracking smiles
Bang the table, stamp your feet
(A Pizza Hut, a Pizza Hut!)
Scream for seconds, bawl and weep
(Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut!)
Elbows flailing, squealing teeth
(McDonald's! Pack your mouth shut!)
Hitch your skirts and start running
'Cause it’s already coming
And we’re long past fucked!
«When the fridge stops humming and my medicine crusts
We’ll still have the Big Society, in God I trust
And when all the ambulance tyres run flat
I’ll still have my Nectar card and my phone contract.»