Coom Ground

These are not dispassionate words of the cool

The headline still rules the editor's a fool

Shall we douse out the flames or will everybody fuse

And leave us standing here tomorrow

I heard a calling out, a cry from the heart

From the towns of cement and no beauty

A whisper it turned howl, man he didn't know

He was standing waiting for you tomorrow.

Nothing's left nothing's found there must be some common ground

I could never figure the calendar's flow

Nor can I work out how the wild wind blows

But I'm ready from within and we're starting to go

Away from the place of no tomorrow

Oh the wrecking fields are a terrible place,

With a sulphurous smell and a frightening pace

And the hooks go in early and the critic is king

And it's hard to stay human and stand in the ring

There's no time to be absent, a clown or a fool

While shylock is smiling we're loaded like mules

If we surrender ourselves to industrial rules

We'll wake up in the wreckage of tomorrow.