© 2020 (with a bit of Pachelbel's 'Canon' in D) Paperback writer, paperback writer, paperback writer, you! I was raised by the Beatles I was raised by Paul John was me father When I was small All those nights by the fire Of a blistering rage Quelled my desire Of teenage swage No one is holding your hand She no longer loves you. The End. Four of my heroes Where are you now Two of you soaring And two kowtow As the world turns to cinders We are all forced to fight Where is your message Of love and light All of this time together No single day apart Through thick and stormy weather Why did you break my heart Sooner than later You will stand on both knees Begging for mercy From ones you appease As you spite from white towers All you deem are far-right Surely forgetting Your privilege is white No one is holding your hand She no longer loves you. The End. Paperback writer, paperback writer, paperback writer, you! you you you