you have grown up smoke stack shadows in your eyes and with annual courtroom ties cigarette burns in your clothes sugar spoons and frozen toes and as for love oh god you farce taught and brought up on your verse breaking rank deserves a curse go home now son i ve forbidden what you love break your own glass with your glove so you make blue the air and with hands in pockets clenched swear to brutalise his wench burn some holes into his floor maybe petrol bomb his door maybe not maybe not cause that s youth today they will fall on anyone in the name of having fun or is it pressure from your peers as the cries fall on deaf ears what have i done what have i done 