Young folk wear their anger
Like it’s a brand new shirt.
They wash it clean, put it on a hanger
After they’ve rolled round in the dirt.
I’m an old man. My fabric’s torn.
I wear rage like it’s a stain.
My madness trumpets like a horn.
My revenge like a runaway train
Comin’ at you fast.
Gettin’ it off my chest.
I might be laughing last
But I’ll be laughing best.