Welcome to the pageant. I'm fine thanks for asking.
Waving the ratchet, bumping Belle and Sebastian
The last bastion, full body cast sat laughing.
Dancing with flashbacks from full metal jackets.
Crass fashion, crashing fags pulling a fast yin.
Breeks at half mast. Half bull half mastiff.
My life motif is the sound of glass smashing.
Accompanied by the hashtag 'hazmat happens'
Man. I tuned out for 2 secs
To contemplate the creases in ma bruised crepes
Up here we call em sannies, as in sand shoes
Either way they're falling apart right now as I stand dude.
The opposite of brand new. Stuck on these sand dunes.
I'm not from the highlands but watch how ma clan moves.
Not impressed with this 'I can't understand you'
Spend ma days trying to discover things I can't do

The Pageant.
Plankton and tragic companions,
A grisly procession of phantoms advancin’.
Abandon hope all ye transients bang the
Funeral drum and
If yir asking I’m dancin’

I’m backwards by popular demand
The sun rises in the west and backtracks across the land
I’m a joker, hollow laughing in the half-light
I’m the grey dawn, spelling the end to a Dark Knight
Starve the old father just to waste time.
Weaving unsteadily imagining a straight line.
Tight wallet. Cast shadows from the lights fallen.
Heads frozen on a slab for cold cash call it ice lolly.
Fresh from the freezer, chest filled with ether
Stanley Odd stretched across yir bird breasts on a T-Shirt.
Come on kid, you don’t want this so stay at home
I call these aggie cats ‘Nike’ ‘cause they’re Erse Holes.
Do you know the Death march? If you hum it I’ll play it
The uneasiness in ma stomach is gestating
Hybridised, reborn with Ripley in my cranium
‘Cause everything about this fucking planet seems alien

The Pageant.
Plankton and tragic companions,
A grisly procession of phantoms advancin’.
Abandon hope all ye transients bang the
Funeral drum and
If yir asking I’m dancin’

Keep talking and get a sair face
I might do it myself I'm so Airdrie
Don’t be concerned about whether I get AirPlay
I'm swinging on you like this was the fairway
Four! Move yir head of be prepared to part with it.
Iron bar critics: now that's a hard lyric.
It’s the famine of the real, feed ‘em beats so they souls can eat
Breathing fire on their heads til they overheat
Up out ma coma sleep, with a the sober heid
Ladies feel it in their ovaries, plus it's spreading overseas
Spitting out fire and injesting the madness
Unflamable – you’re not testing the fabric
I’m acting like nothing less than a savage
I'll make do the best that I can with
Whatever I can find in yir medicine cabinet
I'm like a dishevelled nun: a mess with the habit
Blessings. No escape as I lace the scriptures.
Solareye: I illuminate the picture.