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So I am, held up again, by a demonâs door.
I check the clock and itâs all ticked off as its shadow paints the floor.
My fallback plan didnât turn out sound but I see a way out.
Damn those eyes and those gormless dice, and the cars dished out.
I hold my breath till the second gong and put the silver files back in the drawer.
Oh my lord, give me a second chance, give me a few more bars and a sword.
A soldierâs truth in a silent room doesnât need more light.
The highlight of a day at work, I sell my soul to suit myself and the rats dress nice.
Take my hand, close your eyes and pray.
Take a summersault through the day.
Lift up that chin, let the light back in.
Let the tears from your pen and the drops from eyes circle in.