i m eternally grateful to my past influences but they will not free me i am not diseased all the people ask me how i wrote elastic man life should be full of strangeness like a rich painting but it gets worse day by day i m a potential dj a creeping wreck a mental wretch everybody asks me how i wrote elastic man his soul hurts though it s well filled up the praise received is mentally sent back or taken apart the observer magazine just about sums him up e g self satisfied smug i m living a fake people say you are entitled to and great but i haven t wrote for 90 days i ll get a good deal and i ll go away away from the empty brains that ask how i wrote elastic man his last work was space mystery in the daily mail an article in leather thighs the only thing real is waking and rubbing your eyes so i m resigned to bed i keep bottles and comics stuffed by its head fuck it let the beard grow i m too tired i ll do it tomorrow the fridge is sparse but in the town they ll stop me in the shops verily they ll track me down touch my shoulder and ignore my dumb mission and sick red faced smile and they will ask me and they will ask me how i wrote elastic man 
['alternative rock', 'art punk', 'madchester', 'post-punk', 'punk', 'punk blues', 'uk post-punk']