The Paddington Frisk

To be strung up on a leafless tree
Where everything dies and nothing grows
Hanging like moulding fruit
One last dance whilst you decompose
On come the Paddington spectacles
A black plague over all I admired
(A vegetable breakfast) A hearty choke
Seems like the whole world conspired
But there stood a man
He was cut up, distraught, and cold
But amongst the wreckage of his rib cage
His heart still thudded as he said
I regard myself as a soldier
Though a soldier of peace
I know the value of discipline and truth
I must ask you to believe me when I say…
No matter if it all backfires
No matter if it all goes wrong
We just gotta get ourselves together
We’ve sat still for far too long
Now this ain’t over yet
As far as I can see
We’ve only just begun