Curate these neurons in your final weeks
Just to watch them die and wave a piece of paper
Leftover piece of evidence he knew what he knew
Migrant of the wrong, to the right
Side of the tracks
Now on the wrong side of the dirt
Spent his life whining
About what had made him hurt
And what was it all for?
Authority reaps no value
When your bones demineralise
And your face gets chewed off for scraps
Bad barbershop haircuts forgotten
Stale fishcakes eaten
Or the shit you’ve bought
When you’re sold for pieces

Like the motherland of old
Nobody cares about stories
But look through your teeth for good
Before your final send-off

In a mausoleum above the earth
Midas and Medusa in a battle of sick materialism
With your sorry atoms caught in the middle