He sank into their calculations
And snorted on the stench of their arithmetic
Looked for the boy who was hanging his head low
More trophies than ideas To follow their pretence

With a scowl in his pocket and a smile on his face
he followed with obedience and fell in the nettles

Afterwards those spikey whispers
said he brought his own rope and skipped the bits they loathed
Didn't scramble to find a dog leaf to capture back our hope
To advice his mind had closed, he lost all of his footholes.

And with a scowl in his pocket and a smile on his face
he followed with obedience
and fell in the nettles
fell in the nettles
fell in the nettles

He was a toothpick!
And the garlic and the cinder
upon the path
had failed to blunt or hinder
the slow collapse
Clinging to the doorframe
he was dragged
off to a reminder
of where he had been

With a smile in his pocket
and a scowl on his face
there was nowhere to flee
so sat content in the nettles

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