Comrades

We still hear our Da’s, laughing like fog horns, it seems so far, happy they’re not scarred, or left forlorn, our Ma’s besides them start, when they stamp the tar, like men o war, the car won’t start, right from the off, between them torn, they have great hearts, but don’t figure in charts, their sons know the score', times they’ve gone too far, sing like larks, lipstick, a shirt that’s torn, in a shed by a barn, they’ll kill those tarts, love has no form, will never fall apart, beside these walls.