I'm so sorry.
Shoo, do one,
Benighted young daydreamers,
Weighing up fairytale options,
Practicing a voice as important
As a daytime moon.
Celluloid sixth formers discovering heart and body,
Colonies now, are they? Tell me about love, do.
Behold the tears and the midnight telephone bill
When truth and God are all Greek to you,
And this empire dissolves in the lyrics
You swore you understood.
Benighted young daydreamers trudge over poems
To attract attention on trains,
Worse than some Sanskrit tattoo.
I'm really sorry.
Shoo, do one, fuck off,
But not to Media Studies, please!
David Lean would have loathed you,
Living auteurs and taxpayers do.
Sell me some popcorn, a bookmark,
Keep the stationery coming.
Isn't everything ironic, nothing pretentious?
You are both in form, their meaning
(Lost on you).
This authority is unbecoming of fun,
Let your scatterbrain be at peace.
Sell me some popcorn, a bookmark,
Keep the stationery coming:
Your ink is laughing at your imagination.
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