His silence is golden his gun heavy leaden
ammo out is the scenario he’s dreading
a holster on each hip and a pocketful of clips
greased lightning its square to be pipped to be hip
ketones, totally aromatic and high,
sealed with bright wax, on an all-time high
just caught a glimpse of him steaming past
in the misty mirrors, time moves backwards, forward to past
How can I thank you, Mr Two Shoes?
What is the best way to show my thanks?
Two tankloads of gas, a tankard of beer?
a jingling jangling guitar-song of thanks
crank the engine over, engineers spin past wild
spinning a yarn of hope and blind narrative
wily will smiley killing him softly
farewell mr two two shoes, if thats your attitude