Bullets in a Briefcase

Little fish, boat's too full, down you go

Breathing in salt and fuel, tiny gulps

Statistically, it's commonplace, you're not alone

So end like this, instead of shot back at home

The world is a strange place

Quiet like bullets in a briefcase

Why do I feel like I'm in the wrong place

Quiet like bullets in a briefcase

Quiet like bullets in a briefcase

Little man, Northern France, winter's cold

Eight-hundred hours, four-thousand miles, feet alone

No one I know would even dare it, let alone

Shanty town, bleeding out in the shadows

The world is a strange place

Quiet like bullets in a briefcase

Why do I feel like I'm in the wrong place

Quiet like bullets in a briefcase

Quiet like bullets in a briefcase