Broken Fingers - Blaine L. Reininger

When the feeble rears its ugly head

And the light refuse the shine

Put your shoulder to the rock

And remember better times

Broken fingers talk

They grasp at straws

Thought I heard a voice in there

There’s no one there at all

Oh, what have we done

To come to this?

Huddled on some foreign shore

Standing the abyss

Wake up in the afternoon

It’s so hard to leave the bed

When you look up from the mud

You get kicked right in the head

Broken fingers talk

They tell us what to do

Guess I’ll go out for a walk

It must be after two

Underneath gray Belgian skies

The ground is slick and wet

There must be some place else to live