Four Dead Americans

Little boy, little girl, little everything on the edge
Falling down, falling down, around their knees
With pockets heavy with hopes weighing down
Featherhearts kept for sleeves for floating away
From a supposed serenity so agonisingly sweet

Mediocrity bob avoids like hawaiian shirts
He's happier in knowing they belong to someone else
Extradited from rundle street cause he's too well read
He made too much noise with such thoughts in his head
All those blasphemous referrals to a 'work experience' god

Slipping inside her pocket with the change
Dimming the lights to hide what's surrounding
Loitering with intent to learn to live with her
Painting bars on her fingers to feel more secure

The smart money's on dan and yesterday's heartaches
With monday's public holiday his love's closed for repairs
But four dead americans later he's under scrutiny
The publicity's bob's to do with as he sees fit,
"Apple pie emotions won't satisfy your desires"
Someone once told me that the simple things in life are often American