There's a sword in your side,
you'll ignore until blood shows.
And later on, when it's gone, when something's
wrong the violence grows and it's designed,
to spy and try to poke your eyes, while laying low.
Beneath the seven different reasons for satellites.
Eleven different reasons for fists in fights.
There's never been a reason for fists in fights,
but no-ones ever listening
And don't go dragging your name,
through the mud and the rain.
When it dries I know some dust that wants to get in your eyes.
Put a stethoscope on, you'll notice the beat is gone.
All that's left is hesitations from your previous life.