I only write these words cos I have nothing else to do Good for nothing, nothing for you Here or elsewhere, just me and a white ticking clock Empty of hours, low on power and utterly pointless Not a point in sight, or in view A fieldless view without a clue, just cows gazing at the sky Like glue, like it was going to offer up a point or two A little drop of meaning here and there, or a Gust of deliberate purpose in time and space Like a race towards the ultimate ghost The common denominator of souls past and present The abominator of chained-up loveless ghouls If you know where youre going, youll never get lost If you hold your head high, itll never hang low If you know what Im saying, youre good to go Every cloud has a lining, made of silver And bespoke slivers of gold What a load of old rogan josh My cloud has a lining, made of polystyrene And it goes grey every evening Threatening to throw down old rotten apples of thought From the orchards of past trees I wish Id never planted Like pasties from my auntie I never got to taste A waste of the finite human resource of familiarity If you know what youre doing, youre in the know If you look where youre going, youll see the road If you know what Im thinking, youre a delusional oaf