WarmongrelGot peroxide hair dye in a bottle,
and my I-pod’s on shuffle,
and I’m going to randomly select me a war.
A whiff of wondrous whizzardry,
a titchy tad of techno trickery,
and I’m a gadget that can do it all.
I’ve packed my Vauxhall Nova with plant food, cables and marbles,
and I’m going to drive-thru your new-folk-rock picnic on my way to a war.
My politics and theology have been swallowed by a medium mediamockracy
and I’m bored bored bored bored bored.
So I’m going to whet myself, sharp, like a sword,
And I’m going to make myself into a mouthpiece for the Word.
I’m gonna be a soldier for the Lord.
I’ve left a martyrdom note on my space
saying ‘it’s all my choice and it’s no disgrace’
and I’m spamming my way to a w.w.w.war.
I’ve bundled up my bumbag
with blue tack, naan bread and bangles,
and now I’m a gadget that can end it all.
I’m a vanquishing Angel angling for a newfangled angle, and I’m off to fill my boots with war.
Cuddling up to a crowd, I’ll mingle with the multitude where the voices are loud,
And I’m gonna strike strike strike myself a chord,
For the Lord.
And I’m going to whet myself, sharp, keen, like a sword.
And I’m going to conceive myself as a conduit for his all-pervading force.
I’ll be a soldier for the Lord.