There's a bust of General Franco in the corner
And the bible lies unopened on the floor
A veteran with broken feet will counsel to
the blind
As the smell of petrol floods in from the car
outside the door
The old glass eye has had it's day by Christmas
>And there's talk of death in soft familiar
lies
A monopoly on faded hope
Illnesses and pain
The wet behind the ears just cannot fill
the shoes that size
So keep on hoppin'
Little stunted arms and legs
Out in the big wide world
Keep hoppin'
Waiting for the day to dawn and fate to cast
the die