| Slip from the trees to the dirt to the menace
|
| To the wild to the car, under snow, cut to ribbons
|
| Like a coral to your shin, like a manacle to swing
|
| Fresh from the breast, now a river running fat
|
| To the manor born a rat, to the manor born a flea
|
| To a flood to a drain, now a rubber, now a chain
|
| I was in the war
|
| You were in the war
|
| Plump from the sugar-water pump
|
| With the city at your back to the cannon with a match
|
| From a milk into a mass grave
|
| Never mind that, I can take that
|
| Bones in a bowl like a toad-in-the-hole
|
| Take the shape of the mould
|
| Like a mummy on a pole and a merry little head
|
| Bob around when you’re dead
|
| I was on my knees
|
| You were on your knees
|
| And no reptiles — just soft boiled eggs in shirts and ties
|
| Waiting for the flashing green man
|
| Quivering and wobbling just like all the eggs you know
|
| I’m going to kill a stranger
|
| So don’t you be a stranger
|
| Oh baby it’s alright, it’s alright to feel like a fat child in a pushchair old
|
| enough to run
|
| Old enough to fire a gun
|
| Oh baby it’s alright, it’s alright to feel like a fat child in a pushchair old
|
| enough to run
|
| Old enough to fire a gun
|
| Oh baby it’s alright, it’s alright to feel like a fat child in a pushchair old
|
| enough to run
|
| Old enough to fire a gun
|
| Oh baby it’s alright, it’s alright to feel like a fat child in a pushchair old
|
| enough to run. |
| (Oh)
|
| Old enough to fire a gun
|
| Just give me this one night, just one night to feel like I might be on the
|
| right path
|
| The path that takes me home
|
| Wise enough to know myself
|
| Just give me this one night, just one night to feel like I might be on the
|
| right path. |
| (Home)
|
| Old enough to fire a gun
|
| Just give me this one night, just one night to feel like I might be on the
|
| right path
|
| The path that takes me home
|
| Wise enough to know myself
|
| Just give me this one night just one night to feel |