The Ballad of the Bones

Stumble.
That's it Elwyn, you're doing well,
You'll make it over to the bench,
Won't you?
Legs, why are you being so difficult?
I've had enough,
I can't afford to go to Switzerland,
Settling for a bench,
In a crowded London Borough.
I've watched as the Windrush tsunami came,
Never pouring out again.
I've watched how colour was injected into our lives,
Not just normal colours,
Diodes.
Of course, I never was aware of what they actually were.
We were all a bit startled, including me.
I've been to University,
A little late,
But I did it.
I like knowledge, you see.
I was born a poor man,
I'll die a poor man.
Damn computers!
With their efficient binary!
How could biology ever keep up?
With something as simple as infinite zeros and ones.
Zero,
One,
Zero,
Zero,
Zero,
One.
Crack.
My knees!
For crying out loud,
I wanted this to have as little drama as possible,
You! You divine bastard you!
You did this, didn't you?
You shit and the poor and giggle as the decay,
Become fuel for a supposedly "designed" world.
See, I'm cursing,
I didn't want the drama.
It's black!
Why's it black?
I'm slowing,
I,
Have,
Nearly,
S,
T,
O,
P,
P,
E,
D.

Nobody cared to clean up the flesh,
No one knew him, you see.
Alone.
Cold.
That's how he was perceived,
So in the first few years,
The clocks-
They ticked.
Quickly,
Quickly.

Snap.
The man zooms on binary trains,
Through the realm of Twitter,
Facebook,
deviantART,
For those who were more sensitive.
The flesh began to peel,
Like sunburned waste.
Waste.
Junk.
Rubbish.
So the children of the town played,
Hide and Seek,
Count to twenty and we'll hide!
Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineteneleventwelve,
Thirteenfourteenfifteensixteenseventeeneighteennineteen,
Twenty.
Found you!
Hehe!
You always hide there!
It's sooooooooooo easy to find you!
CYNTHIA CARTWRIGHT!
Get out of there!
You're biting it?
Oh, dear God.
Spray.
Spray.
Make all the demon eggs go away,
Don't taint your bourgeois little girl,
With pigtails of a pauper,
For which you've been charged-
Fifty,
English,
Pounds.
Ha.
Ha!
Let's get you to a Doctor,
Come on Cynthia!
It's dirty, put it down.
I told you no!
You've ripped the pigtail out of her,
Someone's a little vexed,
Aren't they?
A volcano destroying everything,
Your prissy little life a mere seed,
To a hungry battalion of magma,
Wuthering Heights is here.
Have the most joyous of fun!

Clocks are boring,
Cranks are fun.
Woooooooosh!
We've skipped forward fifty years,
Not much has changed,
We still only eat pills when we have a cold,
Or an ulcer,
Or a period a little too heavy.
Gushing blood from an ugly crevice,
Yuck,
Yucky,
Yuck,
Yuck,
Yuck.
Anyway,
Let's get back to the tale,
Digressions are odd,
Odd.
Odd.
Odd.

Crowds.
The borough is swelling,
Like an angry spot on your slimy teenage skin,
Pop.
The tube cracked a few years ago now,
Too many people were accosted,
Haemorrhaging brains,
Too much,
I guess,
That's what happens when you have to hang out of doorways.
Yet,
Music is surviving in the park,
The last green space of London,
Trapped in a pit of clinical silvery white,
Almost Cosmic Latte,
But that colour's too average,
And it's as if this isn't even in the Universe now.
Yet the boys play with sticks,
Ballads of the bones,
Drawing people in with their higher-pitched tones.
It's the only culture left,
In this pit of silvery doom,
At least doom has an intriguing colour,
No?

Cranks are boring.
Black holes are fun!
Juuuuuuuuuuuump!
It's now 400 years later,
Where are the humans?
A look, there's one!
What's he doing?
Oh he isn't…
Yes, yes he is,
I suppose when there's no one else,
A guy has to do,
What a guy has to do.
Shame.
He's quite attractive,
If I were a real person I'd zoom down there,
Give him a kiss.
Maybe a little more,
If I were in the mood.
I'm just a voice,
A mouthless,
Soulless,
Voice,
I am here to tell a story,
And I'll become dust in the brain afterward,
Being drowned out by semantics,
Episodes,
Mechanics.
I'm digressing,
I must bring this to a close,
Now.

Black holes are boring!
Let's burn up a sun!
Hiiiiiiiiisssssssss!
Crackling,
Crackling,
Like a lowly piece of meat,
We're billions of years forward,
Elwyn,
Yes he had a name.
You forgot,
Didn't you?
Silly.
It happened,
The crazies were right,
God was real.
Darn,
Lots of you will be guests at Satan's barbecue,
The crazies will feast upon your cells,
They'll enjoy it,
Until they find that they're eating the rebellious child,
The free-thinker,
The one they shunned many years before.
I LOVE IRONY!
Elwyn's the only one left,
His dust fused to the tarmac in that former London park,
The magma fountains aren't stopping,
The dust isn't moving.
The only life left is the dust of a man who's been dead for millions of years,
All human knowledge,
Achievement,
Grace,
Personified by dust.
Because is that what we become?
Dust?
What am I saying?
We?
I'm not human,
I'm just a mouthless voice,
Who's losing,
The,
Powers,
Of,
S,
P,
E,
E,
C,
H.