Peter Sinfield Hanging Fire
I'm overhung I'm highly strung
Seems I'm a likely candidate
To lose the trick now my rhetoric
Gets weirder by the hour of late.
I'm hanging fire I've left the choir
Too many voices out of tune.
Yes I forget in Somerset
But now I've lost my silver spoon.
I'm under par like a cheap guitar
It's twice as hard to hold the strings
And pull my soul from out this hole
When there are cobwebs on my wings.
I've lost my oars I'm Santa Claus
Forgot my sack on Christmas day
What's left of me is all at sea
It seems my sails have blown clear away.
