This train of thought feels like a hobby horse
this chain of ought always feeling off course
this getting drawn into the culture war scrums
logs getting sawn and here I'm twiddling my thumbs
I don't need a hobby, I need a fucking job
show me where to lobby, what kind of bomb to lob
nobody is fit to save this race of utter fools
no one has the bravery, no one has the tools
no one has my answer I am hung out on my own
beating every chance out of the hobby horse I own
seems I need a sharp turn and a different track
snap the strings of my harp throw it on the
smouldering stack
what
No comments:
Post a Comment