Trading up

Well
we’re all still breathing,
still
underwater believing
that we’re walking
in the clouds.

How’s it feel ‘me ol’ china’
to line ya
pockets
with the thirty pieces?

You can pick a tree, any tree
the rope comes free
see?
all’s well wherein we dwell
and
we’re still breathing
but it’s
nitrous oxide
on the inside
and
poison on the outside,

on the off chance that
there’s no chance,
I think I’ll stay in bed.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.