Four Dead Americans

Little boy, little girl, little everything on the edge Falling down, falling down, around their knees With pockets heavy with hopes weighing down Featherhearts kept for sleeves for floating away From a supposed serenity so agonisingly sweet Mediocrity bob avoids like hawaiian shirts He's happier in knowing they belong to someone else Extradited from rundle street cause he's too well read He made too much noise with such thoughts in his head All those blasphemous referrals to a 'work experience' god Slipping inside her pocket with the change Dimming the lights to hide what's surrounding Loitering with intent to learn to live with her Painting bars on her fingers to feel more secure The smart money's on dan and yesterday's heartaches With monday's public holiday his love's closed for repairs But four dead americans later he's under scrutiny The publicity's bob's to do with as he sees fit, "Apple pie emotions won't satisfy your desires" Someone once told me that the simple things in life are often American