Crooked - The Indelicates

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