Hidden Cameras In The Union Of Wine
With fangs and red eyes I boast my hairy shrine
The sky stained poo drab as the dad drives
Through the blunder and the cold the cassette survives
Brittle plastic, the tongue tied, and my week’s favourite
find
In the union of wine, to be seen is to be blind
The cassette is a lie, then to pause and to rewind
I tripped through his front door
Entangled clothes and bones as we lay warm
He slaps my belly to a beat with a meaty groan
We then finish with a feast, fellowship of beef
In the union of wine, I may be lost but he is mine
To be on top from behind and the odour of the refined
I wore out his radio
It’s like drinking in the cold with our cheapest find
And the truth that may be told as we piss in rows
That boy is entered on his side as he wonders why that
In the union of wine, in my walkman I am blind
‘Cause the cassette is a lie, to be born is to be blind
In the union of wine, he’s neither bold nor even bright
In the union of wine, he’s neither bold nor even bright
