Dance for maya, dance for dreams, 
For faked orgasms and hyperreal screams. 
Put your palms together for Alzheimer's; 
The perfect poetry of Korsakovian slurs. 
Dance for decapitations, for needles and spoons, 
Chain-smoking grandfathers sat in painted-shut rooms. 
Dance for diabetics with the stumps for feet, 
The black sunset on a silent street. 

Can you feel the wilt of a world atilt? 
Your grandparents are teetering on their morphine stilts 
And with a little good luck and every best hope 
We might last long enough to see the sun explode. 

Digging through the landfill on his hands and knees 
For a plastic bottle for the new babies 
And I'm sure she'll figure out something to please 
The hungry men downstairs with the machetes. 
Good little puritans born and raised 
Making neat little puritans for tidy graves. 
So place a ring-o-roses, we all fall down. 
All our cuddles turn to huddles as the lights wink out. 

Can you hear the wilt of a world atilt? 
Your grandchildren are teetering on citalopram stilts 
And with everything long snatched, snaffled or sold 
You can't work out why the young never looked so old. 

Dance for sternums 
Flowering wide 
Ballerinas 
Slumped inside 
Take a ticket 
Single file 
Cremulators 
Cracking smiles 
Bang the table 
Stamp your feet 
Scream for seconds 
Bawl and weep 
Elbows flailing 
Squealing teeth 

Pizza Hut, a Pizza Hut, 
Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut! 
McDonald's! 
Pack your mouth shut! 
Hitch your skirts and [bad word] 
'Cos it's [bad word] 
And we're long past [bad word]  

“When the fridge stops humming and my medicine [bad word] 
We'll still have the Big Society, in God I [bad word]  
And when all the ambulance [bad word] flat 
I'll still have my Nectar card and my phone contract.”