I don't want to be lectured.

I like to burn my food up.

Flames baptise the filth of plastic surfaces that has migrated onto my precious natural ingredients.

I could never live with someone who didn't enjoy scorched and burnt foods as much as me.

Well fired rolls and burnt ends.

Another burnt dish from another place.

There have been malicious studies that discredited heavily carbonised foods as carcinogenic,

but it didn't put me off.

One needs to enjoy life, and my only access route to blissful enjoyment is those burnt foods.

The taste, the tang of flame-kissed natural fibres frozen at the moment of their incineration is, is

what I live for!

I cannot feel it, the veil of black.

A fine spray of white paint.

Will you do me a favour and never ever use black plastic to heat up and touch food with or put in your mouth ever again?

Heating it up increases the likelihood that the chemicals inside will leach into your food and drink

and into your body where they will do their damage!

I cannot feel it, the veil…

the veil of black underneath.

I cannot feel it.

I've got real muscly hands and sick legs.

They hurt me, and the boils, the boils explode

And my teeth they are old and my shoes they aren't the right ones, but I'm young.

I'm old young. I ache, and worry a lot about what people think of me.

Christmas TV on my mind.

Christmas TV all the time.

The neighbour, the worm, the spider, they all love it: toasting, roasting.

I don't want to be lectured.

Like, even a coffee cup lid that's black.