Big Machines - Bent Shapes

This dismal epistle

(grounds enough for my dismissal)

Wherein I say

«Things would be great if great things could stay that way»

Maybe I’m just depressed ‘cos

No one’s gonna let me starve to death

Or ‘cos I’m doing well

So much so that I must frustrate myself

I’m into making hungry scenes

Losing teeth through loose chattering

And shivering in my dripping dreams

The kind they make on big machines

Yeah, I grew up here, but

Learned English from the TV, too

In those young, slow years

What else was I supposed to do?

It’s like all your fun-lovers

Are only regional numbers:

Divided parts to a sum

And vici, vidi where they’re coming from