Funeral For A Friend

Waltzing daydream serenade
preaching god and country like lines on a telegraph
seems like we all want to be
so very different but nothing changes
young and defenceless, waiting son at arms
beating hearts against a tide of one
young and defenceless, waiting son at arms
beating hearts against a tide of one
we all end up like magazines
crumpled up discarded, cataloged forgotten
read the pages that are free
living something careless
just sixteen all over
young and defenceless, a waiting son at arms