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You have grown up |
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Smoke-stack shadows in your eyes |
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And with annual courtroom ties |
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Cigarette burns in your clothes |
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Sugar spoons and frozen toes |
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And as for love |
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Oh God, you farce |
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Taught and brought up on your verse |
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Breaking rank deserves a curse |
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Go home now son |
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I've forbidden what you love |
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Break your own glass with your glove |
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So you make blue the air |
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And with hands, in pockets, clenched |
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Swear to brutalise his wench |
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Burn some holes into his floor |
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Maybe petrol bomb his door |
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Maybe not |
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Maybe not |
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'Cause that's youth today |
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They will fall on anyone in the name of having fun |
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Or is it pressure from you peers? |
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As the cries fall on deaf ears |
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What have I done? |
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What have I done? |
