Heart Of The Matter
Putty In His Hands
No privacy within these painted walls,
The colour of the summer's setting sun,
The chatter cascades like a waterfall,
Then quiet please, the show has just begun,
The ticket seller touting at the door,
A barmaid pouring liquor in a glass,
The band play on, a voice calls out for more,
The singer casts emotions to the mass,
The smoke filled room now intimate and dark,
But for a beam of light upon a stage,
The singer now at pains, the words now stark,
His face contorted with a sense of rage,
The crowd now silent, putty in his hands,
But for the only one … who understands.
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Putty In His Hands
Putty In His Hands
