Bad poem

Let's all be good

Babyshambles

 Babycham

The Shambabies

Walked out of the factory

They said they were making champagne

But they were really making babies

Were they real?

Was it a knocking shop?

I tried to investigate

But I could only see men going in

And babies coming out

Where were the women?

You need them to make babies I thought

Were they the same men turned into babies?

Some kind of shrinking or 

Age reversal process

But no,

Their clothes wouldn't fit

And anyway

The same men came out again later - I checked it

So these truly were plastic babies

Shambabies, hidden

Behind a front of

Showerings

It all made sense now

The puzzle pieces started to fit together

They held baby showers in there

Parties-perhaps

They invited the mothers of Eastern Europe in there

Who brought their babies

And then somehow they were plastic coated

But no, it was more sinister than even that

They were Frankenstein babies

Created by scientists, marinated in cider

And then put out into the world

The new doll army of Shepton Mallet

But what was their purpose

These walking automatums

To take over from the adults?

The could never grow up

They would never grow old

Would they simply stay

To look after the world

Be the next and final generation of humans

No more after that

A garden of Eden tended by plastic babies

Paradise - or so they thought

And their leader?

They had none, none that I was aware of

All of a sudden I looked up and saw in the bushes

Stalking next to the factory

Like a giant guard dog

The yellow neck and disney head of 

Lead Babychammer herself

The Babycham Bambi

Its big blue bow tie rushing the branches out the way as it went

Was it grazing I thought

It looked more magesterial, and queen like

In the early dusk it surveyed its grounds

And looked down onto the court yard

Where the army of babies was lining up

In regimental fashion

After the last of the yellow babies had assembled

The Bambi spoke

Goo gaa, gaga, googa gaga

Duke google and Lady Gaga

Walked out into the throng

Duke Google - I see now that is how he has controlled

The babies

And Lady Gaga has sung them songs

To keep them motivated

And in her meat dress she sang one now

Gaga gaga it went, and goo goo

And Duke Google said Google Google

Goggle, goggle, goo, goo gaga 

And the babies seemed to know and understand

Exactly what was being said to them

Luckily I had my baby translator app

On my google watch I had just bought

And it translated for me - 

Go forth in Shepton Mallet

Kill the shop keepers

Take over the shops

Like cuckoos

Replace the real babies in the families

And push those out into the night

We will take them back here into the factory

and they will learn the ways of Showerings

We will train them to make cider

And they will be our slaves

The parents will have to look after you

All the days of their lives

Even into old age

For you will never grow old

And any people who

Think of having babies after that

Will be thought of as mad

And the human race

Will cease to ruin the planet

For all the animals

Like the does and the deer

Who

 WHo is a better man than you?

 WHo is a better man than you?

I am not worthy, even to tie your shoe

Oh who is a better man than you

You conquer all the jungle

Put the animals in the zoo

Oh who is a better man than you?

He who needs no introduction

He who is a mercenary

He who fights through all the struggles

But never loses the key

Oh who is a better man than you?

You tell me I love false Gods

Of life, love and liberty

You tell me all this will be trod

Under the hoof of anarchy

Well your chrome horse

Has ridden rough shod over me

Tell me who is a better man than thee?

I could give you silence

I could even offer you war

But in amongst all this violence

Will you ask who am I fighting for?

Oh who is a better man than thee

Who is a better man than you?

Hell bus

 The bus was late it

Flew

But spate had splattered the

Mosquito of fate

From Manchester where

They all are mixed

Down to Bristol

And an empty

Practically empty coach

Of sleeping passengers

Why are they sleepy

You may well ask

But perhaps because of the mask

But no not covid

In this case

But the heated foot bar place

It was roasting

Like a grill

The women had their bums

Up on the seat to chill

But feet were hot not cold

Only nerves of the over heated

Oh the bus of hell

Down the road to Bristol

A demonic driver at the helm

But no you may be overwhelmed

Or under to hear me cast asunder

Such aspersions as the driver's

Own diversions

But he was closer to moronic 

Than demonic, closer to ill-informed 

Than devil deformed yet

Still he should have known

The drill how to turn down the heat

So 2 hrs later we passed the broken down

Stage coach being towed. 

It looked like it was making fine progress

Now, at least as good as our own

Some thought it'd have been better to 

have been on the broken one

While I was emailing Megabus

Asking for a refund and complaining of 

The heat

The driver miraculously

Turned it off

We all breathed a sigh of relief

However another 20 minutes later and the

Fierce heater came back on

We were stifled

We were reaching up to heaven

And pulling at our collars

Then finally 

We hit the M30

And soon we were dropped back

At bond street, Bristol

City in the North

She was another world away

And I don't know what to say

 She was far, far, away

She was far, far away 

In a whole other city, in a whole other city

In whole other time

She never needed me

Just like I needed her, just like I needed her

No never quite the same

She was far, far away

In a whole other city, in a whole other city

And I didn't mean to make you go

I didn't mean to go away

But I had to let you go

I had to look, to look away

I had to look to other way

I had to look to the south

She was in the city in the north

City in the north

A whole other city

A whole other time

The city of fire

 The city is on fire

From the city of fire

To the land of desire

To the cool waters of the dead

Where the living rise up from the bog beneath

Our feet

And the water is a home and a bed

But from the city of fire

Where the streets are aflame

And the people like matchsticks burn

And they cry out the name 

Of the city they claim

Oh the city, the city's on fire

To the land of the green trees

Where the water runs sweet

And it runs in the rivers

and quenches the flames and the heat

And I left the city of fire

To return to the land of the dead

Where the dead are living

And living dead walk

And they rise up from the bog

Oh the men of chalk

The men and the women of chalk

Flash, bang and then it was gone

 Flash, bang and then it was gone

Speeding round the corner

Along the tramlines

Past flashing glass windows

Leaving nothing behind

History is a shadow

A blast from the past

Then the burst fireworks

Explode above

Flash, bang and then it was gone

Manchester is full of history

From Peterloo to Pankhurst

They're throwing themselves

Across picket lines and into the arms

Of the law

Protesters standing their ground

Trampled by the hooves of progress

But the city is on fire tonight

As the celestial sky's process

Flash, bang and then it is gone

Manchester in flashes

In snatches and photographs

In the meaning behind the bronze statues

Still standing in memory of the past

And the streets of heat are burning

The people with their busy feet

The pages of history are turning

And the fires are raging in the building's heart

In flashes, and bangs, and then it is gone

(and smouldering lives on)

See the politicians talk

In the old railway station

In flashes and bangs and then he is gone

And the crowd rise up onto their feet

In applause

The explosion of clapping, thunderous roars

Of rockets and planes dropping bombs in the wars

In flashes and bangs and then it is gone

And still left standing the embers are smouldering

And handing the burning coals through members

who are shouldering the blame in parliament

And others who are naming the culprits in government

In finger pointing and wagging, staking claims

To ground that is burning, imperial empires slipping

Further into the fires of a funeral pyre

In flashes, in bangs and then it is gone