Fold

 

Fold

 

You’ve got to know when to fold them,

which, to be fair,  don't feel hard to play

in a four beats to the bar kind of way.

But here's weeks unfolding into months,

you’ll always find them out to lunch

because witches are in season again.

That, or could be Keith Richards’ fingers

are sprained beyond repair - can’t linger,

left guitars on the train, forgotten picks,

and your teeth are itching that little bit,

watching these walking wounded sprains.

You buy them a diamond ring my friend

if they’d not turned up with slings,

can’t play a note, can’t pluck strings,

them guitars are rotting in their cases,

you’d take that look from off their faces,

but they sagged off racing for the weekend.

So, shrug, pack, let's switch off that amp,

down sticks, admit your style’s cramped:

you can't get me no satisfaction

so, just got to know when to fold them.