Sunday, 24 April 2016




I love a sunburnt country,
A place of shaking brains,
I wish I could remember,
A land of sweeping plains,

My life is foggy memories,
'Bout who I used to be, 
The devil take the high road,
All done quite lawfully.

I think I'm from Australia,
Can't vouch for that for sure,
A hidden world of terror,
That's my life right now,

When I  loved her far horizons,
It's not the place I know,
Never thought a slick psy-chiatrist,
Would take it all away,

He said it would be easy,
The treatment is quite safe,
I didn't read the fine print,
Until it was too late,

A stark white ring-barked forest
And tragic as the moon,
Something I can't see right now,
My wrists and feet are bound,

The saphire-misted mountains,
The hot gold flush of noon,
'Bit hard for me to see today,
'Tween these bleak heartless walls,

When electric shocks are finished,
On my poor defeated brain,
I s'pose I'll be to addled,
To see her wide blue sky,

One hundred shocks by Friday,
To my poor hurting brain,
My mouth is sore from clenching,
When they let the current roar,

They tell me when two hundred,
I might as well be dead,
My body will be shaking,
My thoughts most likely fled,

Too late to bring me back again,
Some corner I will be,
While drooling in my custard,
No wide brown land for me,

So I want to warn you others,
This treatment isn't fit,
When sick at heart you'll find us,
Secluded in this pit,

Whenever I may die right here,
From torture in this place
I'll know from that psy-chiatrist,
I have been Katzified.

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