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“Self-Cannibalism”

You’ve freeze-dried the joy heard
First from a crackling car speaker,
Packaging your life’s magic inside
A Lucite puck for modern display.

A million’s not a million as time goes by
And villas in Nice don’t get cheaper.
You said it best when you first spoke,
But Inland Revenue says no.

Pull out the charts and spool up the masters,
Some session men booked from seventy-three.
Playback the old tracks that yet remain perfect
As you chomp on your own flesh yet again.