Crossfire

Spring light in a hazy May

and a man with a gun at the door

Someone's crawling on the roof above

all the media here for the show

I've been waiting for our friends to come

Like spiders down ropes to free-fall

A thirty round clip for a visiting card

admit one to the embassy ball

Caught in the crossfire on Princes Gate Avenue

In go the windows and out go the lights

Call me a doctor. Fetch me a policeman

I'm down on the floor in one hell of a fight

I'm just a soul with an innocent face

a regular boy dressed in blue

conducting myself in a proper way

as befitting the job that I do

They came down on me like a ton of bricks

Swept off my feet, knocked about

There's nothing for it but to sit and wait

for the hard men to get me out

Calm reason floats from the street below

and the slow fuse burns through the night

Everyone's tried to talk it through

but they can't seem to get the deal right

Somewhere there are Brownings in a two-hand hold

cocked and locked, one up the spout

There's nothing for it but to sit and wait

for the hard men to get me out