In the kitchen where the wild things go
Granny boiling porridge outside it began to rain
we looked in the mirror of the window
pane and the water fell, running like a stain
in the tiny grooves of glass like a chain
choking distant memories of a child;
and I’m running up the stairs chased by my brother
as my mother shouts orders one after another.
Outside, awareness of our conscious minds,
inside black mirrors monitor our lives.
Moreover MSM: it's the blind leading the blind.
And on the island it's been boiling for years,
NO, our perception will not be altered by the engineers.
And we're all watched over by Big Brother
As the white coats inject us one after another.
