The coupon.

I'm a Yorkshire man that's fucked in the head I can't control the remote control
The Dickensian tiny Tim with a disability limped like leg mind like the  new born spaticated foal
I cry everytime two men hug  I had a broken relationships with my dad
The shrink told me this that I'm better off realising this as a pose to being a grad

You ate, a minuscule observation a padding retribution that had no matter nor cell set retribution
A permenant aggression a keyboard a dented car crash realm of a contribution
And then we calm down, on a down of heather s perfect fucking testerone
horse against a wall
In a Victorian murder victims domain a Jack the Ripper life that leads to mass appall.

But at least we caught jack the fucking Ripper s caustic blood boiled sentimental flesh coated stripper
A childhood nightmare a difference between your graveyard and me
A heart attack away from the depth I'm an unsecured mind thinking of our middle eye see
It's all about our family of the the ninety eighties Cosby family And we be

And even tried out to be a fucking tape inducing drug fuelled imbecile
A fountain of life combined with a cocktail of love and vile
We can contribute us Yorkshire men against the sanitary exhale

Blood towels on the hills of a matrix period red and it's a  dead mother fucker
And yet my grandmother accepted this jazz coloured love designed a point between me and you and a lover
And where is my mother a fucking test a crayon of nursery like an infant colour set in wax
You can't dictate the crowd coverd Swan I must  contribute to the royals facts
And yet I begin to sleep to delve to dive to hold the nose like an imbecile on a drug baseball hat
Like that fucking putting perfect part of our sentimental baseball bat.

It's a crazy golf sim for the whole of the hole each and everyone of us aim for
Doesn't matter if we are aiming across the sand bunkers of life a double albatross or a hole in one galore
The hole being black as a void me an avoid of tension and anxiety
Me a country dwelling Gardner turfing up the lawn of life and contribution
To the life in the city.

There's no chorus in this son of a bitch it just continues like a fucking train on a railroad out of control
Abandon all hope this reality that my mental health is the NHS abandoned into that hole we talked about
I'm drawing it to an end I'm trying my only friend its a damn confusion in a mind that's seeking s soloution

Those lines you sent. Those lies you told. It's a cute on a coupon.