John Cooper Gjorki

Mulla Gjorki

Your weather’s grim

Your music’s shite

I wake up screaming

Every night

The pubs are shut

There’s shit on the pavement

Windows have been shattered

I’d consider killing myself

If I thought you’d not be flattered

They put up a nice apartments

You’re far too bad for them

In seven days the corridors

Are caked in coughed up phlegm

Blood on the tracks

Blood on the walls

Bloody everywhere

Pus becomes a way of life

It’s called “The Microbe’s Share”

Lovers stab each other

To see if they still feel

Girls would try for motherhood

If they believed they’re real

The plasma’s off

The IV’s a drip

The Body’s got my name

The hospitals are closing

Less out of cash than shame

What kind of creature moves here?

Certainly not still kicking

London is a shill

And it owes me

A living