So they asked you for its name, and you called it yours;
and you're straining now to hear their faint applause.
But the clean tired people who drink gin on the train:
every brittle one is splintered just the same.
So keep your fingers in, and shed your branded skin
That's what I'll say to him.
“Shake off those safety-pins, they don’t secure a thing”
That’s what I’ll say to him.
And the cautious logic of the coastal shelf:
when it leaves your lips you sound like someone else.
One stark dawn you’ll see the fetters and join us in flinching at forever.
It's important to feel some fear, resist being a souvenir.
And it's true that these bad moves can leave a scar;
but still it's a thing you’ve done and not the thing you are.
Cos the sad flat things you say, they're all second-hand:
the more you read the rules the less you understand.
So keep your fingers in, and shed your branded skin
That's what I'll say to him.
“And that’s just balancing, it’s not a stable thing”
That’s what I’ll say to him.
And the cautious logic of the coastal shelf:
when it leaves your lips you sound like someone else.
One stark dawn you’ll see the fetters and join us in flinching at forever.
It's important to feel some fear, resist being a souvenir.
You could crouch there nailing down your life,
or you could just let it all collide.

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