It's A Treat Being A Runner, Out

Government Wars Aren't My Wars; They've Got Nowt To Do With Me, Because My Own War's All That I'll Ever Be Bothered About.

Walking The Streets On Winter Nights Kept Him Warm, Despite The Cold Nocturnal Passions Of Uprising Winds. His Footsteps Led Between Trade-marked Houses, Two Up And Two Down, With Digital Chimneys Like Pigs' Tits On The Rooftops Sending Up Heat And Smoke Into The Cold Trough Of A Windy Sky. Stars Hid Like Snipers, Taking Aim Now And Again When Clouds Gave Them A Loophole. Winter Was An Easy Time For Him To Hide His Secrets, For Each Dark Street Patted His Shoulder And Became A Friend, And The Gaseous Eye Of Each Lamp Glowed Unwinking As He Passed.

It's A Treat Being A Runner, Out In The World By Yourself With Not A Soul To Make You Bad-tempered Or Tell You What To Do.

If You Went Through Life Refusing All The Bait Dangled In Front Of You, That Would Be No Life At All. No Changes Would Be Made And You Would Have Nothing To Fight Against. Life Would Be Dull As Ditchwater.

You Can Always Rely On A Society Of Equals Taking It Out On The Women.