[Intro] [Clean, bright acoustic guitar picking] [Sound of a deep, shaky breath] (Welcome to the end of my life, mate.) (A prestigious gala. The crème de la crème.) And here I am, the human equivalent of a burst pipe. In white. God help us all. [Verse 1] The ambiance was opulent, the lighting was divine I’m standing at the lectern, drinking prestige like a wine In a bespoke suit of linen, whiter than a winter moon Unaware that destiny was prepping for a brown typhoon I cleared my throat to speak, the silence was a heavy cloak While deep within my viscera, a sleeping beast awoke It wasn't just a rumble, it was a tectonic shift A subterranean gift that I really shouldn't lift I thought it was a vapor, a mere atmospheric sigh A gaseous departure while I looked the Queen’s rep in the eye But as I reached the syllable of "philanthropic goal" The gates of hell swung open in the center of my soul [Chorus] [Beat Drop] [Aggressive acoustic guitar slapping and heavy kick drum] It was a hyper-saturated breach of the structural integrity A televised extinction of my personal celebrity One giant, viscous eruption on a field of Alabaster A high-definition portrait of a medical disaster (It’s pooling in his shoes!) (The saturation is immense!) A catastrophic failure of the final line of defense [Verse 2] The warmth was an invasion, a thick and humid crawl Against the pristine fabric of my white and linen wall I could feel the capillary action start to take its hold Turning brilliant white into a dark and muddy gold The choir behind me halted mid-Hallelujah chord As the olfactory offensive struck them like a flaming sword My wife’s expression shifted from a smile to a mask of dread She saw the beige archipelago beginning to outspread It wasn't just a leak, it was a hydro-dynamic surge A final, messy climax of a biological urge The viscosity was haunting, like a heavy, steaming glue Rendered in a clarity that Sixty Nine Million people knew [Chorus] It was a hyper-saturated breach of the structural integrity A televised extinction of my personal celebrity One giant, viscous eruption on a field of Alabaster A high-definition portrait of a medical disaster (He’s glistening in the heat!) (The moisture is profound!) A social execution while I’m standing on this hallowed ground [Bridge] [Guitar slows to a single, ominous, low-E string thrum] [Spoken word with intense, whispered Welsh gravity] I could feel the weight of it. Actually heavy. A physical burden of shame pulling at my waistband. The cameras weren't blinking. The zoom was so tight I could see the individual fibers of the linen giving up the ghost. The Prime Minister’s nostrils flared. He knew. The Bishop knew. The corgis knew. It was a sensory takeover. A coup d'état of the bowels. (The stickiness... the heat... the silence...) [Verse 3] I tried to finish the sentence, but the squelch was far too loud A wet and rhythmic slapping that silenced the entire crowd Every time I shifted, the geography would change The stain was evolving into something truly strange I looked down at my shorts, a white canvas now defiled By a Jackson Pollock masterpiece, aggressive and wild I waddled off the platform like a man who’s lost his legs While the audience sat frozen, like they’re walking on some eggs The smell was like a funeral for a very old kebab I’ve gone from high-society to a televised, wet slab I’m trending on the internet before I hit the door The man who sharted through the white and onto the marble floor [Outro] [Acoustic guitar fades out with a series of dissonant, muted strums] White shorts. The ultimate hubris. (It’s in the seams, mate.) (It’s a permanent part of the history books now.) I’m moving to a cave. A dark, brown cave. Where the light can't find the stain. [Final heavy thump on the guitar body] [End]
