“The Olde Trip to Jerusalem”: For the Mekons

Yes, of course, it’s all fucked up.

I was buying you a drink, where were you?

You’re cordially invited to join the Deformed Mutant Noisemakers Brigade.

We’re kin that don’t verify bonds with blood.

We’re a shimmering racket, to be sure:

beleaguered & be-lager-ed yelps,

ludic & ludditic lamentations,

jokes too tired to coerce laughs.

We don’t have a platform;

they got trapdoors anyway.

None of that deus ex machina shit, mate.

No saviors. No brooms.

We’re just whimsical shelters,

beautiful & doomed.

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