The Unfairness Of Angels 
  matthew Bartram

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 White Shirt, Black Soul



The sound of the electric guitar solos
And moshing at the front of the Metallica shows
But here in my shirt and tie, in a well-paid job, no one knows
You see me in my white shirt, but I have black soul too
Still have scars from stage diving when I went to see Motley Crew
My skulls in my bedroom and my obsession about death
Is still whispered under a silent breath
My clothes are not leather, and I have no more chains
And I wear my 501 jeans we no more snakebite stains
I got to work keeping societies status quo content
No more early hour metal clubs with me going hell bent
The other night I was at the Intrepid Fox on Wardor Street
It was full of people sporting tattoos and boots on their feet
I just came from work, so had on my white shirt and tie
But no one really turned an eye
They knew that if you entered that pub you had a soul of black
That once you have metal in your blood there is no turning back.





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