Politics from Politics by Paper Rifles

Every young man pins his colours to a mast
Piles the liars high, smiles, and lights a match
But I'm an old man now, settled in my ways
I learned that mixing drinks and politics won't pay

I remember that December when school books would speak the truth to me
Set my hindsights on that dark night of empires and insecurity

I will prosper from the gospel of men and the gods they thought they'd be
Choose my colours and my lovers too quickly, and oh so carelessly

But I will wake my soul
Or at least the part of it I can't disown
And I will take the roll call of all the fighting truths I can't let go

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