He lays his queen down,
unaware - a feared or scared - that he just lost his
Tea-tree wafts from shingles quaffed
as he lays his queen down.
The queen I took, yet I feel like a rook
being pulled and picked, a frown; stay down.
Cause I can only go forward.
My sweet Lord sings in hoards of 70's mists and
sociological twists when I took his queen up.
The 5 stages skip, denial no - a drip in my arm; the human in harm,
try to be calm as the papers get scribbled signatures. Alarm!
He lays his queen down.
Kind is surrounded, drowning, confounded. But mum she went
a needle in hand with one-man brass band.
I don't blame you
You laid it down because you had no choice
but I had no voice! No shoulder to scream to, no advice or mere coos.
Just a frozen waffle. The ice wasn't there, it was trapped in mum's hair. The both left me bare.
So you go to her and she'll go to him,
no birds broken wings cause I fell from the nest with no pudgy-faced protest.
I'll pack the board away.