Авторы: Peter Hammill
It might come in a letter, Darkness falls in a telephone call; I await the unexpected With one ear to the party wall. Is it the pricking of the conscience, Is it the itching of hair shirt, Is it the dictionary definition Of a precipice to skirt? It's the nutter alert. Though this face is familiar Something in it has bred contempt; I never asked for your opinion Or your back-handed compliments. Oh, but here comes that special nonsense All the words out in a spurt, The unhinging of the trolley As the mouth begins to blurt... it's the nutter alert I can see we're in trouble From that glint in the eye you've got; There's no sense to the story, Comprehensively lost, the plot. And how contorted is that logic You so forcefully exert: You're a car crash in the making, Head-on, that's a racing cert. It's the nutter alert, this is the nutter alert.