Sometimes I wish I had a secret switch,
a shotgun or a potion from a witch,
a safety net in case,
I fall too far back in the race,
or for those times when life is too much of a bitch.
Regret and guilt can get too much to bear,
an open wound that simply won’t repair,
too much to heave round,
with unshod feet on burning ground,
cos life chewed up the only shoes I had to wear.
When that far off horizon starts to swell,
with thunder clouds that cannot mean me well,
I’ll feel less terrified,
if I’ve an off switch by my side,
safe in the knowledge that I won’t be trapped in hell.