Bastard Time

Nothing gave birth to time
Time has no birthday, no mum no dad
Nobody ever taught time
No social contract, moral code, no good no bad

And in the dirt, in the bottle of our poor atmosphere
The lesson here is never learnt

You feed on dogs bodies, on carcasses of government
You tongue the graft over the grief
Bastard time, you give no relief
But it’s said you give relief

You heal the wound like a crocodile saves its victim for later

What do you love?
Leaves turned, woods burned, ashes then are what you love?
Fraud time, child’s birthday
Spring deceit, brood love
Tiny feet, callous time

You light the womb like a pantomime stage
Give dress to plainness, cake to age
And make us clowns

You heal the wound like a crocodile saves its victim for later

You give the cheeks a rosy hue
As the lips are turning blue
This is the artist in you, bastard time
And you our guide to perpetual suicide
But what makes you sad, what makes you tired?

What says to you as you’re passing it by
“Oh no, no, no, this should never have died”?
To be the snake, and the sword, and the veil
To author the joke and be the sting in the tail

No currency can buy
No tale can ever tell
No thread can make a stitch in you
Nor any tolling bell arrest you