Horseshoes and Handgrenades

Theres little comfort with Billy Bragg ringing through my head caught in the grips of myself
and this city
in which i used to call my home
my love
i know nothing of either it anymore it seems
the winter bully has been kicking my ass on a daily basis on the way home from everywhere
even though my footprints on my own ass would be enough for most
unanswered angry emails finish the recipe mixing it up for a nice strong sorry for yourself cocktail that only an asshole would order
call me that guy then i suppose, taking what comes my way
the wind blows through me red rover with nowhere to go
heart on the sleeve
cheap booze on the breathe
my own shadow shackled to my leg weighing me down
smile packed away in a suitcase somewhere in another country
theres no point in fighting it, even being close doesnt’ count
those rules only apply in horsehoes and handgrenades

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