ILL.

I'm feeling three less of four quarters
Visions of bold sons and ill daughters
I'm looking in the bag I've brought us
But there's only Paracetamol and peanuts
That's not enough to feed us
A bottle of blossom, a can of sardines and a sliced loaf can't free us
We need codeine and Jesus

I'm feeling one less of two goalposts
Just a fucking stick in a field
I need a pamphlet manifesto
That comes as two in one kitchen roll
Because I've got ten rough years to mop up
I need something to believe in
Not just visions of bold beasts and ill pups

I'm coming around again (oh...)
I'm wide-eyed, and I mean it (oh...)
Shoulders back and posturing (oh-oh-oh-oh)
I can't go back now I've seen it

I'm a septic tank half-full kind of guy
Got a twinkle in my eye that I've been told is just a stigmatism
I've got a s-skip in my step like the undead half-risen with a need to feed
I bleed information, and I'm losing a lot of blood
Nice guy turned good
I'll be enlightened by tomorrow
Ready to concede and follow
And you can see the crucifixion on your phones and computers
Visions of bold nostalgia and ill futures

I'm coming around again (oh...)
I'm wide-eyed, and I mean it (oh...)
Shoulders back and posturing (oh...)
I can't go back now I've seen it (oh...)

I'm coming around again (oh...)
I'm wide-eyed, and I mean it (oh...)
Burn it down, save the children (oh...)
I can't go back now I've seen it (oh...)