Idiots

If that was humour they’d be laughing by now
It’s all in English, you’d've worked it out
somehow
Things get less funny the closer you get to me

Your ex is sleeping in the arms of Edward Lear
Charles Dodgson’s epitaph’s somewhere around here
The signs are everywhere
far and near
Things aren’t getting any more clear

It’s your primordial instinct to hate the absurd
Your imagination’s screams are so well written but never heard
You’ve got to trust the figures
got to trust the herd
Got to get more lemon curd

Any foetus can stand twenty minutes of Freud
It’s right before you but you can’t imagine an android
Who’d laugh proud and out loud
At British Steel and mongoloids

They’re all idiots
Perfectly reasonable idiots