Jackie Four

In the spring light, I open the door, see what’s on the line, it's cold for the season, sons and daughters, look to their freedom, out on the Neap tide, a bitter truth’s sought, they ask me why, I’ve brought them here, sunshine over the port, sick of being, without a dime, as if they’ve been caught, in my policy drive, they believe, I’m heading for the slaughter, like a guilty plea, but every walk of life, ends overwrought, maybe my wife, will tell them the score.