with guns and knives stowed in our suits
we may be called as sons of brutes
but even in this place of fright
we find our state of pure delight

delight me with your cunning smile
which makes false countries reconcile
firm grip and all that attitude
young girls will hope that you'd include

include them in your precious mind
and never leave them far behind
it must have been your glorious hair
that makes them stop and love and stare

stare at your retreating back
with me as selfish and intact
in truth, when all is said and done
you only have to raise your gun