The blank page is a menace, wicked and smug
Its white stare as damaging as any old drug
The gaps in its lines seem to widen with time
Assaulting your senses as you think of a rhyme

Its Arctic Plains are hostile and impenetrable
In zero words calling your writing terrible
The pale monolith has mastered the craft
Of making you feel small, time-wasting and daft

It's where that rusty old roadblock to progress is found
A ceremony for dreams but nothing is crowned
The brain has ideas but the words simply don't come
Feel your ideas drip drip to the beat of no drum

The blank page feeds on your creative plight
To the point you feel that you can't even write
It never forgives, it makes you forget
Don't let it turn your gift into a thing you regret

I gave birth to a demon
His father is Satan
The horns and red tail
Made it so perfectly blatant

He threw up my dessert 
All eighteen flavours!
He dranks the blood of the car
And possessed half the neighbours

He only speaks in Latin
And watches violent porn
For Christmas he made me
A crown made of thorns

He can't handle happiness
But thinks corpses are cuddly
The creepy little bugger
Won't even say that he loves me

Yes after all the horrors
That's what the worst part is
Never have a one night stand
​With the Prince of Darkness

I lost your number on the 3five8
And missed our date near New Cross Gate
Meeting you was ducking great
But I accept this stubborn fate


So farewell then my South London love
It was special to meet one of us
But I still thank my fucky stars
​That you crossed my drunken path

He promised you jobs, security and wealth
He promised you greatness, in sickness and health
All is possible he said, if you hand him the crown
He’ll punish the criminals: the blacks and the browns
He’ll build a damn wall, and if, God forbids
Some still get over, he’ll deport their kids
He’ll deport their mothers, yeah that’ll teach em
Hell, some of his biggest fans might even lynch em
All these feminists and socialists are bound to fail
Who needs society when you’re an alpha male?
Fuck professors, social workers and therapists
They won’t help him kill the families of terrorists
He expects the cowering media to regard him as royal
He wants mountains of power and barrels of oil
He’s gonna milk the planet for all that it’s worth
And if that doesn’t work he’ll start nuking the earth
And if you believe this is just kicking up a stink
Take a look outside, it’s closer than you think
If he says the right things with his dramatic flair
Make way for the despot with comical hair

Damn the tube on summer days
It sends me into a slumber haze
Thick as shit, the air is plotting
​Stuffy vacuum, heated coffin

Bakerloo looking like the end of time
To the hellish horrors of the Central line
Packed like turkeys, free will has gone soft
Forget to touch out, roll-on has worn off

Taken hostage by the labyrinth of Bank
The God of fresh air is drawing a blank
Fall in the Northern like a sunken ditch
Panting like puppies at London Bridge

The soulless glint of Canary Wharf is not far
Spy the dystopian ghost of the DLR
Ride on murdered communities, a silent glide
Machine over man, is it likely to fly?

Entering real East, smells authentic
Round about Bow, the carriage gets hectic
Walk through young families and tired men
To reach the haven of Mile End

Before you know it, that time again
The broken path that beckons no friends
Jelly legs fall under London's seduction
Edge of the City, the brink of corruption

Phallic suits chat up mums of two
Arranging shallow dates in Waterloo
When St. John's wood has no luck
It'll end in tears in a gastro pub

When we were twenty-three
We were caught in between
Too young to just settle
​Too old on the scene

We got high in the park
We got high in the yard
The highs were higher than day
The lows lower than dark

We got more paranoid
Our moods changed to the season
We sat out in the rain
For no goddamn reason

We on-offed d'alcool
And acted like students
But then when we'd see them
We'd treat them with prudence

We dreamt of seeing Bishkek
And burning our money
Our existentialism based
On the need to be funny

Our time divvied up
Between cafés and bongs
We found the music of our lives
Not knowing the names of the songs

A political cynicism
Was our fatal flaw
We coated religion in knowledge
And showed fashion the door

We swam in pessimism
And fell in love with the bus
Convincing barely ourselves
That the drugs found us

We put a bookmark in
The goals we were pursuing
We sat in the Tuesday fog
And asked "What are we doing?"

Sit in my castle on a throne of tears
Stab carrier pigeons to deliver your fears
Cut my hair with your cleaver of choice
Rainbow dust mites keep fearing my voice
My egotistical scar keeps picking itself
Fiery phoenix in a suit selling your health
Cherished photos burn in my retina
​I decorate cakes with the scurvy of prisoners
I detonate land with Hercules grip
Carry a spare abdomen in case my hernia sticks
Drinking salt water on my wedding night
Place a Haitian curse on the wanton bride
Drive your dream car off the edge of the moon
And force you to inhale the derelict fumes
I burned Satan's contract, but still rely on a Judas
I keep a devilish arsonal, I trust in a Brutus