Trouble
Into the way way back days
Like a knight on a corner
Waiting for war
Waiting for trouble, trouble for days

Sword made of cobwebs and crystal
A thistle of rage
With something to say
It’s nothing but trouble, trouble for days

Memory like a muscle is moving
Moving through time
Thoughtless and blind
Or it’s in trouble, trouble for days

When that I am older
Senses behold her
As to be still
To kill all the trouble, trouble for days

Throw, throw it away
Push it so far
That it can’t return
Out of the trouble, trouble for days