I don’t know what to do with myself.
I’m having the ants in my skull mo’
They’re all “ready, steady, go!” You know.
Skipping my synapses to stop the leccy flow.
I wish they’d drop to sleep.
It’s difficult to keep steady on one track.
The ants brute strength is pulling me back.
I may have to tap my skull to create a crack,
So the feckers can get on home.
I bet Trump doesn’t have this trouble.
The huge freak lives in his bigot bubble.
I reckon his brain is just a pile of rubble,
I smell horror on its way.
See! I wandered off again.
Tripped and fell on to another lane.
I think that my thoughts are born in vain.
Now I’m sailing on a car.
I may just have to meditate
The only way to control this state.
I can’t just leave it up to fate.
Breathe in, breathe out, ta-ta!