The Third Degree

The long-arm’s flexin’ hired muscle, slowly turnin’ loose thumbscrews,
waitin’ ready should I squeal, point my burnt finger at you.
There’s no sense inbeena hero, ev’ryone’s a winner now.
Never shed a crodile tear, when you broke your sacred vows.

I’d like to think I laid it out
for-all and sundry plain to see.
My little lies were harmless white,
so why you giving me?

The third degree.

I’m not breakin’ any more rules, I’ve got no more left to break.
Lookin’ back at all the chaos, all the teardrops in my wake,
I could have been conformist, but deep down that’s not my style.
Another fuckin’ yes-man all my life I’ve been on trial.



©28.9.2018 Andrew Robert Chapman

Another fuckin’ yes-man another stab-you-while-they-smile?
The long-arm’s flexin’ hired muscle, prickin’ in my thumbscrew.
waitin’ x for me to squeal, point the finger x at you.

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