By Thomas Caterer

Beaming a wide grin he thus spoke ‘tick tock tick tock’
The man in the bowler hat and white suspenders
‘You’ll dance till you die to the rhythm of my clock’
From princes to paupers we’re all gloomy dead enders

‘Right leg, left leg twist, now right arm, left arm swing’
The conductor merrily waves and weaves his batons full of hubris
‘Do not fail to dance to my tune, poor helpless thing’
Empty feeling marionettes singing and dancing to fill the abyss

It’s all on offer in the blood-soaked mall of the macabre
Fill yourself up on all the shiny things in the endless spree
There’s a price on it all; from love to peace to laughter
Ravenously feasting to fill the hole; that cosmic, undying ‘me’