Denouement Of Abuse
Racked inside my head I am feeling that the pulses are bleeding
And I am feeling something within me that I cannot ever see
It feels like a disease and it shakes me down straight to the core
Like a right hook uppercut that knocks you down to the floor
Shivering and cold from the inside death comes with the scythe
Lights go out nobody is home down comes the winter nights
Starvation comes to the body malnourished without any hope
Like a meth addict on a binge just give up cause you cant cope
Suicide is the only way out and is a fact that cannot be denied
If it was up to you I think you will be the one with dead man eyes
Shivering and cold from the inside death comes with the scythe
Lights go out nobody is home down comes the winter nights
When pain is at your door you just fucking have to give up the ghost
When there is nothing more just fucking give up cause there is no hope
When pain is at your door you just fucking have to give up the ghost
When there is nothing more just fucking give up cause there is no hope
Racked inside my head I am feeling that the pulses are bleeding
And I am feeling something within me that I cannot ever see
It feels like a disease and it shakes me down straight to the core
Like a right hook uppercut that knocks you down to the floor
Shivering and cold from the inside death comes with the scythe
Lights go out nobody is home down comes the winter nights
All through my life every day's the same and they tell me I'm losing again
I can talk until I'm blue in the face but can you tell me who's the one to blame
And what are you gonna do when we get old and we're tired of doing what we're told
Because the government's broke and we're out of place in a country that's already been sold
I don't know what to think but I know what I see I think I'll have another drink you wanna join me?
I can't make sense out of any of this the more I try, the more I get pissed
This confusion that I can't erase can't seem to crawl out of the abyss
Desperate groupie making a pass the little slut didn't just want my ass
She said, "I wanna be cool and have a rockstar's kid"but will the novelty of the bastard last?
I don't know what to think but I know what I see I think I'll have another drink wanna join me?
Surrounded, Surrounded, Surrounded
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
(Here I am) Surrounded, I'm surrounded, surrounded surrounded by idiots
The TV Gods and the Jesus freaks and the flag burners
And the rapists, and the murderers, would you check out all the geeks
I can't believe what walks the streets from Hollywood to D.C.
You banned Little Red Riding Hood censored Mister Rogers' Neighborhood
I go to jail if they find a seed but meanwhile the mayor runs free
Now I know what I think and I know what I see I say everything sucks you agree!
Surrounded, Surrounded, Surrounded
Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right
(Here I am) Surrounded, I'm surrounded, surrounded surrounded by idiots!
Well we're moving on up to the prison side where you could find all the other bad guys
No more chance for that rapist no more chance for his games,
Time for you to go to prison so you could meet with all your friends
So now you are now stuck in the big house we finally got you out of the way
Oprah Winfrey cannot help you you are gonna have a very long stay.
Harvey kiss your ass goodbye because your time has passed you by
A few things spring to mind Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem.
For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.
So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.
Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever.
I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman.
But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.
Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers.
And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.
There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface.
Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront.
Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.
And in Britain, we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist.
Trump is neither plucky nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that.
He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy or a greedy fat-cat.
He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.
And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.
That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a sniveling sidekick instead.
There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.
So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think ‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:
* Americans are supposed to be nicer than us and most are.
* You don’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.
This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss.
After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.
God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid.
He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.
In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.
And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:
‘My God… what… have… I… created?
If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set
