The beast was born
He slithered out of his hole
I starve my pets
Chained to a linked fence
I am forced to guard the mile
You are not my mother's child
History is at the door
They tell secrets in their sleep
You wake up and wet the sheets
My good friend is at the door
Boys in big shoes
Make authority look so cool
And you french the ground
On the other side of our town
Relax my bones
Put my nail on the gramophone
Sounds of the week
Are always so bittersweet
