Synthetic Bohemian Rood

You're in bits and falling
Falling for love and who needs it
Love? That strange, foreign number
You try to equate late at night
Just like Pi
you're left without luck

You'd rather be busy
With robots and candles
Have roots in the future
Or delve in the dark
Real life holds so little allure
Does that mean that it isn't
Real at all?

Should you finish work late
There's drinks and duck and pate
Alone with a book
Or thrown in your thoughts
There's nothing to fear
In the silence of mind
There's little to shy
In the pureness of noughts

Who would begrudge you
An Alien fetish
Dream of the Rood
Make love to a lettuce
Be just as strange
As a skinny boy should
Pour over comics
And fuck in the wood

J. x