yo i made my home inside a stranger s skin swing and miss the monkey bar landed in a crumpled heap whose are all these fucking bones watched it from the outside living on some once removed analyse the evidence holograms for instant play 20 different angles you could analyse the way you slip but couldn t change a thing and every time you watch the shit s the same must ve been the body snatch that fucked with his coordinates swapping moods like footy cards sort me out a shiny son bin him like he s obsolete chuck him on the rubbish heap the purpose that he served is past your future s looking bright as fuck sorry bruv my hands are tied everybody plays their part check her in the waiting room waiting for her life to start empathise i recognise myself in every dirty face he s a real nowhere man writing tunes for nobody about me getting over you attempted some preemptive strike and paralysed my feet with everytime i tried to shoot at you live inside the superglue must ve got it muddled up i swore that it was me that walked away and now i m fucking stuck so happy valentine mine s the ultra violet blue sending all my love to you written in a shaky hand what a way to say goodbye see you at the finish line reverie s the sweetest thing pictures in a broken frame boxes filled with yesterday s futures sat collecting dust some things she could never trust i guess she learnt to read between the lines a life of tainted love had carved in his behaviors operant conditioning optimised for broken homes chromosome s expression gets affected by experience facts are never that it s all contorted in your looking glass to manifest the past inside the present what a pretty scene shame about the disbelief cracks up in the window screen happiness is parallel reality s forbidden dream he who dares rodders we were eden share croppers and look where that got us it got us and now he s shy and stand offish digging for them hired hand dollars everything s ambiguous in white and black blotters heroes long forgotten he grew out of all his childish dreams heroines are obsolete this is not a picture book eulogies for lovers lost and never had a happy end my favourite colour s sepia this is not a plot device