Pockets

Pockets to hold them down
Pockets to keep them around
Pockets to shoot them in
Pockets to fill when you win

Pockets to cram a jammed fingered glove
Pockets to fill the plate of love
And to hide the weepers lost and found
To pull them high
I ain’t going down

Pockets if turbulent crowd
Pockets of keen accusation
Pockets of strong resistance
Pockets of weak information

Pockets to cram a jammed fingered glove
Pockets to fill the plate of love
And to hide the weepers lost and found
To pull them high
I ain’t going down

Brеaking the seal
On the lawn of display
With hands in my pockеts
And my back turned away