as we hide inside our tidy pens
we cover our ears to shut out noise
the scratches drive us round the bends
we think we're outside of the trends
only others waste time with foolish joys
as we hide inside our tidy pens
the wolves slink out from their dark dens
with claws on paving draw their ploys
the scratches drive us round the bends
seeing the sights through a strange friend's lens
we keep our distance through our toys
as we hide inside our tidy pens
the dirty world outside we cleanse
with window pane that grime destroys
the scratches drive us round the bends
that none but Time its own death spends
as we spin the circles Fate employs
as we hide inside our tidy pens
the scratches drive us round the bends
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the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flow...
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for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physica...
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