Magazine

See their faces in the magazine
All traces of the scum they've seen
Obliterated in the cases of
Top quality wine drunk through a skein

All the faces on the magazine
These old rotten guys, these girls
In the knackers yard
These caked on masks
They light comments that bask
In the glory of former days

Those days of Hey,
Of when the grass was green
Those faces in the magazine

Whose faces are they we've seen
Bits of our own broken skin?
Flaking pieces of a jigsaw puzzle
Because if you don't ask the questions
Of your own life in childhood
Beyond a certain point
It doesn't exist
And no amount of interviews
Can ever summon back those summers
Except on the covers of those Magazines

Those film stars of films that they've starred in
Like your own lives only you jarred
And forgot to grin
Or grinned to hard
And lost the musket, lost the mustard gas mask
So you choked slightly all summer
After the war
And in the yard your pet dog died
In an agricultural accident
But it didn't play out that way in the film
It was edited down when they cut that scene
Just so it would fit into the magazine

So what we want are the lies
Fill us with bull shit
Make us eat pork pies
There are no more spies
No more double agents
Double pages of print
Of ties that leave you
With tears in your eyes
Nothing but splints, crutches
Pig sties and butchers
Who hold up bloody shoulders of lamb
That has been fattened on the green
That once frolicked on the
Pages of the zine