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      Woe is me, the press gang came And forced my love away Just when we named next morning fair To be our wedding day Like a silent explosion ripping into the heart And the hurt and the anguish do tear you apart With a swiftness of hand that I cannot condone And discardance of life that is not of your own Then a small piece of hear say becomes a big deal But that is not the issue, the issue is real. When a turn of the page can turn love into hate Don’t forget that’s the power of the fourth estate. And a tall string of words keep me tied to the chair Where before I was blistfully unaware And my skin becomes thicker so I never get hurt I’m a man without feeling and I wish that I weren’t Though you’re long dead and gone there is still no escape Just forget it, just forget it, you’ll never cut all that tape And once you’re a victim, your love will turn to hate Don’t forget that’s the power of the fourth estate.
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