Put your fist in your pocket, Stan
No one loves a hero
Make the most of a broken day
Leave it in the snow
The neighbours are watching you
From their living room
There are fairy tales
To be read tonight

* All the things that I am capable of
So many things that I am capable of
Terrible things that I am capable of
Bend and bow to all the terrifying thoughts
‘Til I’m without a safe place to sleep

Eighteen years on a waiting list
Skin gets drawn
All the ducks in a perfect row
On a golf-green lawn
They don’t play your song
On the radio
Sour brain in a loaded jar
Nodding to and fro

* Chorus

Put your fist in your pocket, Stan
No one loves a hero