There's a bust of General Franco in the corner And the bible lies unopened on the floor
A veteran with broken feet will counsel to the blind
As the smell of petrol floods in from the car outside the door
The old glass eye has had it's day by Christmas
>And there's talk of death in soft familiar lies
A monopoly on faded hope
Illnesses and pain
The wet behind the ears just cannot fill
the shoes that size
So keep on hoppin'
Little stunted arms and legs
Out in the big wide world
Keep hoppin'
Waiting for the day to dawn and fate to cast the die
