Mr Bump

Sunshine, you’re off your head

Long live God? Yet God is dead

And mine is floored, with little reward

Than, be covered in blood, and leaking red

 

Into thy hands, I command my spirit

My light, diminished, so, it is finished

My core fanbase of a single nobody

Forgive me son, I’ve forsaken thee

 

Bump on the head

Then the coma

Biological death

Then the aroma

 

Dark matters, cut us up inside

Dark energies, either way, we’re fried

 

I’m too odd, to be God

Too even to believe in

You can’t harvest my soul

Cos, it don’t have no meaning