The Paddington Frisk

To be strung up on a leafless tree Where everything dies and nothing grows Hanging like moulding fruit One last dance whilst you decompose On come the paddington spectacles A black plague over all I admired A vegetable breakfast, a hearty choke Seems like the whole world conspired But there stood a man He was cut up, distraught and cold But amongst the wreckage of his ribcage His heart still thudded as he said I regard myself as a soldier Though a soldier of peace I know the value of discipline and truth I must ask you to believe me when I say… No matter if it all backfires kid No matter if it all goes wrong We just gotta get ourselves together We've sat still for far too long Now this ain't over yet As far as I can see… We've only just begun