Gentile Gentleman - Aking

Put up your defenses

Those electric-fences

Protect our gardens of garbage

Best made men

Like worms to a dead bird

Flock into oblivion

I don’t think that we’ve won anything yet

What are these rats racing against?

They just charge unquestioned

I never pay any attention

I never could punch straight through the door

More gentile than gentleman

Not a lightweight anymore

My pulse slips

I’m taking care of business

When I look at what my wilted hands have sown

Polish our pretenses

Just to numb the senses

Sweep the dust under the carpet

Best love-wreck

Your moods swing profusely

Sweating the small things

We all say yes, yes in the end

What are these rats racing against?

I know that I’m just one of them