The Paddington Frisk

To be strung up on a leafless tree,
 Where everything dies and nothing grows
 Hanging like moulding fruit
 One last dance whilst you decompose
 On come the paddington spectacles
 A black plague over all I admired
 A vegetable breakfast, a hearty choke
 Seems like the whole world conspired
 But there stood a man
 He was cut up, distraught and cold
 But amongst the wreckage of his ribcage
 His heart still thudded as he said
 I regard myself as a soldier
 Though a soldier of peace
 I know the value of discipline and truth
 I must ask you to believe me when I say...
 No matter if it all backfires kid
 No matter if it all goes wrong
 We just gotta get ourselves together
 We've sat still for far too long
 Now this ain't over yet
 As far as I can see...
 We've only just begun