Cut Straight tae the Bon

No wi’ a knife… nae need o’ steel…

But wi’ a smirk, they deal their deal.

A meeting’s set, a trap is sprung,

Their tongues are sharp, their tempers young.

 

They strut, they preen, they think they’ve won,

Wi’ all their mischief neatly done.

But see the room… the hush, the stare…

Polite folk choking on the air.

 

They crave your rage, they want your storm,

Your tears, your fire, your human form.

But breathe, my friend… aye, breathe it through,

Karma’s come tae join the view.

 

He’s calm, he’s cold, he’s made o’ stone…

No ego there, but aye, he’ll cut tae bone.