Unsubscribe - Jam Baxter, Kate Tempest

You left your face in the crotch of a bad night

Your morals are a flea-bitten rug on the floor and these people are lads mags

Speaking cliches in their glad rags holding back the flood, sandbags

It used to be alright round here, said Grandad

But now he’s staggering around and he’s looking for a Poundland

And all he found was ‘exposed' beans and no ketchup

Sriracha and eggs for twelve-fifty, etcetera

Bargaining with hardening arteries the marketing barks at us

It’s hard to trust anything asked of us

Gambling with nothing but a handful of temazepam

And strangling a mannequin for minutes before managing to extricate yourself

And back to business, back to dangling the carrot on the stick

Your teeth are rattling like tambourines

It’s an intravenous ambushing Adidas with the candlestick

Ripped between her fingers for the kiddies that believed it

Man, these imbeciles are leaders

And they’re quick to spread diseases when they interface and every other Beavis

on the internet is eager to be visible

Even in the middle of another metaphysical discovery, it’s pitiful performances

Slapstick, jack-of-all-trades and opinionated Autobots, an awful lot to say

Hmm

It’s so real when you skin yourself alive

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And all your friends say: «Skin yourself alive!»

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The receding hairline left the face tats hanging on his forehead on crags of

his skin shrouded in fog

Between the red wrinkles read, «LOVE, SEX, DEATH» in a child’s font

He stirred and murmured out to my squad…

His ghouls found him a job mopping the floors with his enormous absorbent eyes

Clogged with Insta models in shorts flogging the corpse of the rave with

daddy’s walking stick

Stop hogging the aux, man…

So here’s to the rabid dog on the porch, drooling at obese little piglets

popping their corks

That shoot for the city streets where children rob them for sport

Shoving in wet cement into every bottomless thought

We’ll line our arteries with all of you one day

Specks of fat splatter the skinny little alleyways round here

No one answers your ringing eardrums

Eye sockets set to vibrate…

So bell the delivery drug man for the third time and transform from starlet to

addict in the swing of a car door

Melted skin slop on the passenger seat fizzes and pops

We found God on the corner at half-four…

I thought you were hardcore in your barbed wire running shoes

Now you leave a telltale trail of blood and booze every time your muscles move

Skin rifles through a hundred hues and settles on swamp green, eternally

fitting…

And they became the insects drowning in their craft beers that barely crawled

out of the sum of her last year alive

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And all your friends say: «Skin yourself alive!»

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