Slap in the face and one more door to slam.
End of the rave, end of the day, start of new noise and rage.
Sound and fury, one kick to the solar-plexus, and
"Vengeance is mine saith the Lord".
I sit on my hands.
I sit on my hands.
I SIT ON MY HANDS AND I BITE MY TONGUE.
A plague on all our houses and we are the enemy,
the battle-lines being drawn.
Slight me not, and force no hand.
I want no quarrel with you.
But do you bite your thumb at me, sir?
Children bearing the sins of their fathers
with drooping shoulders and shitty posture.
Down on me..Down on me...
Down on Desolation Row.
We row-row our little boats
upstream, uphill, both ways
and struggle struggle struggle.
Go on and fight til all the piss and vinegar
have worn you thin and sick.
I will pretend to ignore the call of war.
I sit on my hands.
I sit on my hands and I bite my tongue...
