On the crest of one's becoming
It's an anecdotal rhyme
To recall, repeat, be drawn up
To assign the mundane crime
And I'm eating glass while your voice rails 'round the room
When the timing's right and the tide subsides
You will cut out, be excused
But don't I, don't I, don't I deserve?
And don't I, don't I, don't I deserve?
It's not a fault I will take
I'm in my own right place