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The Curse Of Company
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Fleets In The Fog
It's this firing squad that fires
These ceilings that I drive
Around in complete circles
That emulates perfection,
And satisfied control
And humbled we may be
This pleasure beating street
Housed the rantings of the fleet
And through the fog it rained
Like a sheet, the sound was far,
It curved up like the foe,
It curdled like a dead crow
And all the fleets in the fog
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Had the usual sway but I was wrong
About the be-and-the-and-end-all,
The hoards that we slowly realised,
And reached our goal.
It's this firing squad that fires
These ceilings that I drive
Around in complete circles
That emulate perfection
And satisfied control
And humbled we may be
This pleasure beating street
Housed the rantings of the people.
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