Coolio

Oh Lord, save me from everything iniquitous,

Oh Lord, save me from myself

Save me from Tuesday night’s and sat on the edge of the bed

Staring with existential dread,

Save me from holiday’s
Save me from nothing to do
Save me from TV, coffee, tea & death
Save me from me

Save me from pencil death staring at the whiteboard of eternity
As pencil necked men pencil in pointlessness on the eyelid’s of
Monday morning, face fucked from here to Friday on the back
Of productivity & pro-activity & performance, Oh Lord! Save
Them for they do not know, oh Lord! Save them for they do not see
The words that haunt them are the words that
Blind them, the words that blind them
Are the words of work that blinds and
Haunts them, on Tuesday’s of Huddles at three PM
When the soul is stretched thin over coals
Of scores racked up & spat out & sucked up
Into the vacuum of the Trial of the Castle of
Postmen going postal, of old age and pension
Slips, collected and dejected marching out of
Post offices, unwanted & unloved and hated above &
Below and holed
just there.