Thursday, November 5, 2009

"Don't Tell The Prizefighters"

"Don't Tell The Prizefighters"
written like a lackey in an office by jake kilroy.

Don't tell the prizefighters that I'm taking a dive,
something I hope goes swimmingly tonight
(though I'm already in sweat like a suit)
(cutting up my nerves like rope burning through)
'cause when they come, they come like machines;
they come like soldiers of misfortune,
loading their guns up with some noise so mean;
oh, they come with the worst sound in your heart
(as you hear the busted boombox pumping savage blood);
the parades come with the fury,
the laughs come with a growl,
and you can't turn your back on them
even if you think you can, somehow.

So I say, sure,
let 'em hype, let 'em jump,
give 'em life, give 'em some,
hear 'em call, hear 'em talk
give 'em hell, give 'em knocks,
get 'em up, get 'em down,
give 'em luck, give it now.
But don't tell the prizefighters 'bout me.

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