Nettles (Arctic Monkeys)

He sank into their calculations And snorted on the stench Of their arithmetic. Looked for the boy who was hanging his head low, More trophies than ideas. To follow their pretence. With a scowl in his pocket and a smile on his face He followed with obidience And fell in the Nettles. Afterwards those spikey whispers said he bought his own rope. And skipped the bits they loathed. Didn't scramble to find a dock leaf to capture back our hope To advice his mind had closed He lost all of his footholes. He was a toothpick! And the garlic and the cinder upon the path Had failed to blunt or hinder the slow collapse Clinging to the doorframe he was dragged Off to a reminder of where he had been. With a smile in his pocket And a scowl on his face He had nowhere to flee So sat content in the Nettles.