You start to worry about your health as you reach a certain age. So in a careful tongue, I have chosen one, that I believe is safe in the crook of my good arm.
All the liars I know tell me the course is bleak. They can go to hell, I know that story well, and maybe I am weak. But not the crook of my good arm.
Run run through the thicket and the barley, run run for the sake of your good name. Run run for the puzzle of it all for the child in your heart that's taking all the blame.
And you might hear them say it isn't mine to claim, but I don't really care. You see the world ain't fair they'd probably do the same. The cook of my good arm.