So this is what you've spent your time doing
Waiting for Sally's daughters to grow up
I know you're fond of questions
So here's some fucking answers
We'll gently rewrite some history
And make believe it's all about empathy and compassion

But first tell me again in bad fucking english
About your three months as a prostitute
The art project gone bad
The trip home at christmas to get the money for an abortion
400 Euros in your hand that you swore you couldn't find another way
I'd have paid gladly

I caught you going through the rubbish again
Empty blister packs of sildenafil citrate
Why would you want to worship that sickly grey mess?
Where's the ecstatic truth in that?
The french harlot child promising "soon or never"
The paedophile in love gazing at 70s snapshots
And feeling very fucking safe

Safe as bright-eyed Anne scribbling by candlelight
You cherish the image of her awkwardly posed in the street
The photographer's shadow set to swallow her whole
Dark as the war itself: a cheap AGFA vermeer
For connoisseurs, perverts and enthusiasts
And not forgetting: pretentious cunts like you

Or those lucky bundles of warm good nature on summer days in rural France
When they peer into the lens
Momentarily distracted from the kittens or dressing-up game
What do they know about sex beasts and cancer scares?
Partial birth abortion and vaginal infection
David Bowie in Modern Painters

I'll give you fucking honest
Your favourite movie: The War Zone
Favourite album covers: Virgin Killer, Houses of the Holy, U2 - Boy
Favourite photographer: Dodgson
Favourite artists: Balthus, Remarko, anything with a kid in it
Favourite Google search:
Russian orphanage
Ruthless babysitting
Elite gymnastics

And you got the clap on your fourteenth birthday
From that shy friend of your father
Who finger-fucked you in the same car
He later sucked down the gas in
Those exquisite books you pestered him for
Octavo editions of the poets that sit still unread
On the shelf by your bed for dreaming of who-the-fuck-knows-what

Dirty Jessie's all grown up now
Today is her cocaine day
Even through the haze of cocks and hip-hop rapist paws
She can see we're all still wallowing in the mud
However artfully framed on white gallery walls
I can look you in the eyes and see what you spend your time doing
When it gets dark and messy
The band broke up
I lost a lot of fucking weight

Your favourite book: The Old Curiosity Shop
Not the celebrated rape-snuff of little Nell
So much more adorable alive, though preferably sleeping
Unwatched and uncared for in the midst of decay
The child botanical
The angel imperial
Not laid out like Jessie or an empty dirty dress
You can call me a cunt if you like
'cause you'll still put the batteries in the baby
Like a simpering NAMBLA freak