The man who stands before the crowd vows to take their ills The sound of it, the weight of it It's a warm night The pawn is out in a cloister under your guard I can walk away right now for a percentage Your house is safe From the lighting on the hills And on the coast I confided and waited for holes in your statement Perplexing It's perplexing What part of your real self you keep under your bed How bland Do you have to eulogise, can you keep your composure Your palm is in your forehead How stern Has the sum of your resentment got on your skin Start confessing