Still I Rise

And still I rise God beams down from his Red velour chaise longue where he scans "Thigh High" magazine and just gets right on with the business in hand. His reverence is interrupted by the sounds of seduction and keeping himself in check he screams "who the hell else is here, show thyself that I may be at peace once more" but... Still I rise "Who the hell else, who the hell else?" It is I Anaestheus the king of lust, king of all that is unjust putting ideas into the minds of men, chained to the tracks by their own desires and frittering away the choice to live amongst the most noble the most magnificent, the most that a man can possibly be but... Still I rise As a bright red capital A hits the centre plate. I grit somebody else's teeth and haul off to the next spot, my life taking on new meaning as I tread the unknown, blinkered and shivering with candle snot trickling down my beak, landing on my lip which gives me more food for thought as I fall down drunk and screw up the union but... Still I rise Angels place their hands on my forehead, the anaesthetic now splitting the death probe while surgeons hack and crack, spilling more claret than the time they kissed the sober dawn. Move on up to leg mountain and pluck out the chosen one, my mind is full from memory overload, the anaesthetic truck like shot, drains I.V.s and a back fulla 'phine but... Still I rise Walk with the king, the son and myself and the whole damn ministry. Sleeping under bright lights that keep watch over our every move (takes a while but we'll get there baby) and so we stroll, remembering Albert Johanson, Albert Adamson, the soul murdered father, the Moss Side tory the negro inside me, the man with the Golden hip bone connected to the... devil's fucking plaything