i don't turn up at your house...

i don’t turn up at your house…

i hear them

practiced piety

echoing down the lane

brief torch light

you move as a pack

a fala-la

makes it through

then another

a dropped tambourine

your ridiculous choruses

louder now

begging

at the house opposite

i turn off my security lighting

turn my garden deadly

paving iced

jet black

brutal steps

almost excited

for the moment someone slips

and the singing

stops hard