I had no idea you were a giant lizard
who fell to earth in a fiery ship,
I just thought you were quirky.
And so I let my heart let rip.
With no warning of mental health hazard
I waved the flag of my love for you
until my fingers cracked.
I assumed that you were waving too.
But what you gripped till your knuckles whitened
were the handlebars of your faithful bike,
and I didn’t notice this.
So sorry for not being David Icke.
Folk treat me though with the same shortened
belief and regard that they show him
when I speak of you, my angel.
Of you and the ways of the Nephilim.
Of the light-years you’ve pedalled to enslave me
to your beckoning, barricading, serpentine,
sweet-faced tyranny.
So that my mind’s no longer mine.
Of the miles you’ve marched to manipulate me
and dress up the truth so it’s arctically clad,
so that, like the man in the turquoise tracksuit,
I’m the one who looks mad.
