i have run out of fuel
that is a fact
whatever it is, petrol or diesel
or indeed just, ‘gas’

i have nothing
nothing to give back
these feelings are too heavy
i am struggling,
i am struggling

it feels like there is a face to know
you know, to get out over there
and there is a ticket which they buy
but there is never one to spare

the boat has sunk
fatally hit
pieces of junk
they blew it to bits

well, that desire,
now seems to have gone away
so it seems, they are still an anarchist
but with a small a

people are easily convinced
it is why,
their intelligence is often skint
and their compassion,
no longer seems mint

i coloured in, up to the edges
of the colouring book i owned
then,
i went outside,
and i caught a dream

my life –
is ona wheel