Sing

I sing of carparks
Of streetlamps and skylarks
I sing of manic
And super organic
I sing of falling
Off eighth storey bridges,
Choking with roping
And hanging from ridges.
I sing of wombats, and
Viva the town rats.
I sing of drinking a poisonous yew brew
Or toadstools and nitrate
Combined in a death stew.
I sing of railtracks and decapitation
Of airports and fast trains
Delayed at the station.
I sing of cornfields and beautiful faces
Of millions of sperm cells
In strangest of places.
I sing of tombstones
And rattling old bones.
I sing of bruises
And Thames city cruises.
I sing of football
Especially my home team
The thrill of a goal scored
In afternoon sunbeam.
I sing of my mate Mark,
And Clint his Iguana,
And James Bond escaping
From Hungry Piranha
I sing of powers
And bunches of flowers
Of coffins and boffins
And long depressed hours.
I sing of dying, and truth in the lying
Of car crash and plane smash
Of widowers crying.
I sing of jumping right into the middle
Of death and then solving
That ultimate riddle.
I sing of not being
Where people are seeing
My horrible insides
Where evil is fleeing.
I sing of subconscious
I sing of unconscious
I sing of the graveyard
And hearses and horses
And millions of people
Just following courses.
I sing of myself,
And my self preservation,
The pain of my living
This slow suffocation.