Ant Smith

This Life

Got a life of its own

The

Pizza from the weekend curls up inside the box

Stuck behind the settee in a land that time forgot

I'm swimming in the beers cans seeking what I lost

I come across the carpet and I'm a little shocked

There's a burrowing, scurrying, scabby little thing

It does a little dance and takes off on the wing

With a hundred thousands others of its siblings

In thirty seconds flat I'm choking in their midsts

I feel their little fangs a tearing me to bits

Taking little chunks from out me fingertips

Recycling my body my flesh and my bone

I wonder what has happened to my lovely home

Oh my god it's

Got a life of its own

This Life