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(fish / marillion)Vodka intimate, an affair with isolation in a blackheath cellExtinguishing the fires in a private hellProvoking the heartache to renew the licenceOf a bleeding heart poet in a fragile capsulePropping up the crust of the glitter conscienceWrapped in the christening shawl of a hangoverBaptised in the tears from the realTears from the realDrowning in the liquid seize on the piccadilly line, rat raceScuttling through the damp electric labyrinthCaress ophelias hand with breathstroke ambitionAn albatross in the marrytime traditionSheathed within the walkman wear the halo of distortionAural contraceptive aborting pregnant conversationShe turned the harpoon and it pierced my heartShe hung herself around my neckFrom the time-life-guardians in their conscience bubblesSafe and dry in my sea of troublesNine to five with suitable tiesCast adrift as their sideshow, peepshow, stereo heroBecalm bestill, bewitchDrowning in the realThe thief of baghdad hides in islingtown nowPraying deportation for his sacred cowA legacy of romance from a twilight worldThe dowry of a relative mystery girlA vietnamese flower, a dockland unionA mistress of release from a magazine's thighsMagdalenes contracts more than favoursThe feeding hands of western promise hold her by the throatA son of a swastika of '45 parading a peroxide standardGraffiti disciples conjure testaments of hatredAerosol wands whisper where the searchlights trim the barbed wire hedgesThis is brixton chessA knight for embankment folds his newspaper castleA creature of habit, begs the boatman's coinHe'll fade with old soldiers in the grease stained roll callAnd linger with the heartburn of good friday's last supperSon watches father scan obituary columns in search of absent school friendsWhile his generation digests high fibre ignoranceCowering behind curtains and the taped up painted windowsDecriminalised genocide, provided door to door belsensPandora's box of holocausts gracefully cruising satellite infested heavensWaiting, wai-wai-waiting, the season of the buttonThe penultimate migrationRadioactive perfumesFor the fashionablyFor the terminally insane, insaneD-d-do you realise? D-d-do you realise? D-d-do you realise, this world is totally fugaziWhere are the prophetsWhere are the visionariesWhere are the poetsTo breach the dawn of the sentimental mercenary