Where most of my songs are traditional, this is modern - almost grunge. There are no wasted words, just plain me and a guitar.
You can decide how real this is; actually, it's a mixture of people. It's about how the justice system can trap kids by giving them a record and pinning them down, sometimes in a place where there's nothing there anyway. That just encourages the wrong response. There's also the ghost of a singer-songwriter I knew back around 1970 in there. He never made it big, and I guess he probably never made it, full stop.
I put down roots and then
You pull them up again
Oh can you tell me when
I'll be allowed to grow?
I write down words and lines
I make up tunes and rhymes
I lay these landmines
In the wasteland of my soul
Ch:
But I never shot the arrow
No, I never killed the bird
I never read the verdict out
I swear I never heard the prisoner cry
As he fell out of the sky
No I swear I never heard the prisoner cry
As he fell out of the sky
I dig your lover's grave
I spend what others save
I know no other way
The find my way back home
I make my plans and then
You rip them up again
Oh can't you tell me when
I'll be allowed to go
(Ch repeat)
(1st vers and ch repeat)