When I saw his face and I was a believer
It was the automatic rifles
The Nintendo's and the Sega's

And the half a dozen dead disciples

He claimed to be the son of God

But like many a fruitcake before him
Maybe he really was


And meanwhile a black Maria
Leaves the hallowed halls of justice
Under a hail of phlegm and fire

From the $$#embled vigil-aunties and uncles

Hot Dogs

Ices
Mid day crisis


Ippa dippa dation no operation
Too many people at the station


Me rest of life's fall-out patients
Who wake up every morning smiling
Stretching, yawning, breakfast-timing

Cut in slices, toasted brown
When the mid day crisis comes around


And no, I don't want to see your leaflets
I lost my faith with my taste for sausages and


Hot dogs
Ices
Mid day crisis