Crash, crash, Super-Cannes
wrote the bard of Shepperton.
Cocaine nights and crystal worlds,
Exploding madonnas and coma girls.
Crash your car into another,
take the other for a lover.
Erotic scars, seductive pain,
feel the need to crash again.
Geometries of broken bones
remind me of a place called home.
A place of zones, of parking lots -
A prison camp, a place to shop.
Escalator, aggravator,
enact dark dreams of architecture.
Get tooled up, fall out of love,
Attack! Attack! the floors above.
Crash your plane into the Thames,
become a god, reborn again.
Teach the kids to fly like birds,
release the ids of surburban herds.
Buy a villa in the sun.
Stop the clock and have no fun.
A fold of skin, a wrap of coke.
Assassinate all modern tropes.
Exhibiting horrors, unlimited dreams,
affected bonds to our machines.
So carry on, return to sleep,
while androids pleasure electric sheep.
