The skin is thin and you know you’ll bleed.

Don’t start itching.

Shouldn’t go faster, you must not speed.

Your foot’s twitching.

Want to shout about injustice, not accede.

You’re a quiet thing.

Love to join in the tune, but ambition recedes.

Because you can’t sing.

And experience tells you, it may go bad.

And if it goes bad, then you’ll lose all you had.

But if you had squat, what have you lost.

If you’ve not lost, then there can’t be a cost.

At first just try humming, just a single bar.

Talk loudly, for once, be heard from afar.

Fire the engine and go on wildly race the car.

If it itches, for fucks sake, scratch the scar.