Theft

Hey diddle diddle
the cat's in the middle
the purse went over the wall.
Now that's a big diddle
Not just a s slight fiddle
and you say "there's no difference at all".
Tickety tickety tock
I'm having a race with the clock.
You're addicted to smack
and I smoke on your back
And my hearts been left on the lock.
I threaten to Jump
All hands to the pump
Dont call the coppers
Remember the whoppers
That come with the boy with the ball
the ball, that come with the boy with the ball.
Purse retrieved Me relieved Xtian's reprieved
the police can leave

Training

Today is a cold cold day
I have music in me
But no Keys
Is life really needing construction?
Must we train ourselves in order to improvize?
Why can't things come naturally
To train is surely to cheat
To train is to train is to train
Techniques, they come in every ear
Techniques timing, professional moves
Come from any corner
Who is interested in freedom?
Why can't music come straight from our
brains?
Love's the same.
Technique
Strategy
Careful planning
hide feelings
Then succeed
It's not true,
It's not right
But I don't ever ever ever win

Trust

I don't trust my words
thoughts or motives any longer
As I write, I force myself into
contortions of thought and speech
False, squeezed, muddled brains
sickening concoctions of ideas
the very thing that was to be avoided
"Thoughtful thought" Rubbish
I untie the rope to rational thought.

Sky girl

Halfway round the fish pond
Looking for the sea
Tried to build a boat
But no-one’s helping me
All can see I’m a sky girl looking for a bit of ground
I’m not picking up any signals
I’m not making the right sound
Blow my horn in desperation
It’s sounding terribly flat
The Keys are clicking and sticking
The neighbours can’t take that
Have to revert to chaos
Give some of my powers to chance
Hope they reform past the problem
Hope they’ll remember the dance
White lights flashing and searing
Powers and sensation galore
Still find a hot spot in the death pose
My ground space is here on the floor