Like weeds on a rockface waiting for the scythe. Ricochet - ricochet. The world is on a corner waiting for jobs. Ricochet - ricochet. Turn the holy pictures so they face the wall. And who can bear to be forgotten. And who can bear to be forgotten. March of flowers march of dimes. These are the prisons these are the crimes. Men wait for news while thousands are still asleep. Dreaming of tramlines factories pieces of machinery. Mine shafts things like that. March of flowers march of dimes. These are the prisons these are the crimes. Sound of thunder sound of gold. Sound of the devil breaking parole. Ricochet - it's not the end of the world. Sound of thunder sound of gold. Sound of the devil breaking parole. Ricochet - ricochet. These are the prisons these are the crimes. Teaching life in a violent new way. Ricochet - ricochet. Turn the holy pictures so they face the wall. And who can bear to be forgotten. And who can bear to be forgotten. March of flowers march of dimes. These are the prisons these are the crimes. Early before the sun they struggle off to the gates. In their secret fearful places they see their lives. Unravelling before them. March of flowers - march of dimes. These are the prisons these are the crimes. Sound of thunder sound of gold. Sound of the devil breaking parole. Ricochet it's not the end of the world. But when they get home damp eyed and weary. They smile and crush their children to their heaving chests. Making unfulfillable promises. For who can bear to be forgotten