Crooked

I don't have time
To plot your downfall, I am tired
There's no grip on my shoes
There are boys to make men of
And caring to be done
Food to cook for someone

Look, look at this fist
You'd think it would look strong
You'd think I'd raise it up and sing
Some brazen protest song
But this fist just looks small
Just like this brittle arm
You could take the whole of it
And crush it in your palm

I don't have time
To plot your murder, I am tired
There's no grip on my shoes
And there are boys to make men of
And caring to be done
Food to cook for someone

I admit defeat
The rules were all agreed
My flesh is all made forfeit, go
Call in the boys to feed
I'll sit and warm my chair
Force necessary laughs
I'll sign the papers, say the words
And smile for photographs

I don't have time For Coups D'etat
I'm far too tired
And the nights are too short
There are boys to be made men of
And caring to be done
Things to clean for someone

But I won't forget
How she was spoken to, and when
Your heart skips in your chest
And you know that it's all over
And the fear fills your eyes
I will look away
And I'll
Smile