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You have grown up.Smoke-stack shadows in your eyes.And with annual courtroom ties,Cigarette burns in your clothes,Sugar spoons and frozen toes.And as for love;Oh God, you farce.Taught and brought up on your verse.Breaking rank deserves a curse.Go home now son.I've forbidden what you love.Break your own glass with your glove.So you make blue the air.And with hands, in pockets, clenched;Swear to brutalise his wench,Burn some holes into his floor,Maybe petrol bomb his door.Maybe not.Maybe not.'Cause that's youth today;They will fall on anyone in the name of having funOr is it pressure from you peers?As the cries fall on deaf ears.What have I done?What have I done? From Letras Mania