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