sixth born to be stiffed by the ethics and quarrels that loathed to see him resting on his laurels he said "fuck your morals" was his own man for bad or worst an also-ran spawn of the cursed by sick fate and finding love a test would surely dictate that he would pick hate and time would prove a weapon his crime would be to breath the air he would stain the sheets of the black country and in good stead for later life he made the bed, his future wife was cookin' a soon come life for them, as she was lookin' at the ruckin' a class mates ears in either hand on to the tears he did expand with spittle the spite inside the phlegm was uncommital but pre-marital and the pome it had been tasted 't was the homophobic, racist flirt that she would wed in the black country within the snare of wilted flowers she rushed to share her youthful hours with learning that tolerance and reason are for burning he's not for turning and once upon ago, the sex would pretend not to know the hex of violence the days it would plot treason, drunk on silence (potent alliance) and a thorn he'd always carry still born is what she asked to be got divorced from hope in the black country er sell by date it came and went stood at the gate of heaven, bent on boredom born and bred qualifier for whoredom he