I’m a story more than man,
With ideas and beliefs
Almost at old,
As the black shirt I once wore
My name is banded round, the halls of the holy
Round the back of public houses, were I left the best of
That’s how this story began.
I began in burning light,
Listening to punk rock,
Thinking I knew it all,
Thinking I could change the world
Its at the point our hero makes his worst mistake
To think that he alone could stop the old machine
Break the turning cogs, covered in their moss
Of eon of bureaucracy and back door deals.
I went out with old flared trousers,
Like the ones I once wore to political debates
And demonstrations, along with the flags I waved
And the ideologies I followed.
So now the story carries on,
To love and marriage,
To a quiet life.
A small amount of time it seems
So our story reaches climax,
In that sordid public toilet masturbation way
A filthy, dangerous and devious
I return, older and older,
With ideas younger than myself
The aged politico,
Dying in the limelight.
I went out with flared trousers and with fascism
With pleasant social intercourse
And hidden sexuality.
I’m dying in the airless world, of a new political world.