Data Burst Transmission

I'm purple smoke from a Cessna Birdog artillery spotter plane,

inside a Glasgow tower block.

Twenty Two floors tall.

I hover in the lift shaft by a horizontal concrete bar

where a guy and gal sit waiting for the lift that failed two hundred years ago.

Takes an A-10 called Cyril Cannibal Piglet to root me out.

Shoot on the smoke!

Brrrr!

30mm zing and zoom chipping mortar,

dusting me.

Need a mad Goth witch to sponge me down,

my balls covered in clay.

Purple smoke wafting up an air vent.

Coming up your toilet,

bog side event.

No terrorism here except concrete dust in my hair

and orange uranium fragments on my bell end.

Guy and gal fade away; ghosts.

Not even customers for the local Korean hooker.

Cannibal Piglet will eat us all.

Munch A-10 pilot,

breath purple smoke and knock over a huge tower block.

Surreal solitary mind.