promise your secrecy into the microphone
|
into the megaphone, into the cell
|
questioning decency under the microscope
|
over and over then over and out
|
organise my life over the telephone
|
over my dead body, over my head
|
tread a fine line between you and your memories
|
between you and me things are best left unsaid
|
|
the honouring of violence
|
is a security number
|
always so quiet it slips under your guard
|
pushes your dead body, under the microscope
|
over and over it's over say over and out
|
|
another incident, another accident
|
dangerous emptiness, people in shock
|
you pelt them with rocks
|
and the old innuendo
|
"no that was no mishap
|
that brake line was cut"
|
|
lie on the pavement, wait for an ambulance
|
say to yourself nothing is what it seems
|
never meaning to say you never say what you mean
|
you get caught by the sirens on your t.v. screen
|
|
the honouring of violence
|
is a security number
|
always so quiet it slips under your guard
|
pushes your dead body, under the microscope
|
over and over and over
|
then over and out
|
over and out out
|
over and out out
|
over and out
|
|
-----------------
|
Over and over
|
| The English Beat |
