I love this bit. The bit when I can go
All morbid on my readers.
The man's a bit of a twat really. Spends
All his time at his desk, with that bloody
Inkwell. Not that the ink's blood, 'course.
He keeps making blotches everywhere,
On all his papers. To most, they're meaningless.
Can't read his obese scrawl. And yet,
This all is meant to mean something.
Mabye it's new age dowsing with ink.
Well, technically i've just got things wrong. Fault of
Tapping technology. I don't hate Angus really.
I don't know an Angus. Death just got banned from
My poetry. No, Angus is a human angel, divinity reached
Through musical notes, spelling Agnus Dei.
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