there's a spectre in the
corner of an illustrated page
and a lonesome muted strip
ling with a rapt remedial gaze
the poverty of his languageand
the wealth of his emotion
bring him endless murky musings
and unexpected frustration
angst and madness
weave the fabric of his life
tomorrow might be better
but right now it feels like
<Interlude>
there's a panther wild
and proud behind the doors
of a redolent cage
and an undeveloped intellect
filled with impotent
and static rage
and don't think you're exempt
if you earn a good weekly wage
'cause your neighbor's going
crazy and insanity's contagious
I know there's so much
you want to say
but your tongue gets in the way
and sometimes it feels like
<Interlude>
I know there's
so much you want to say
and the tumbrel of your mind
gets in the way
it's the same
for everybody to degrees
we all get that foggy freeze
and sometimes it feels like
cked down
and they put you first in line
And so you finally ask yourself
just how big you are
and take your place in a wiser
world of bigger motor cars
<Intelrude>
So Where the hell was Biggles
when you needed him
last Saturday
And where were all the sportsmen
who always pulled you though
They're all resting down
in Cornwall
writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual
See there! A man born