Holiday Ghosts - Coat Of Arms

There goes the snow, washed away by the rain
There goes my confidence my fortune and my fame
There goes your man, struck down by the plague
There I go singing 'bout the time of day again
The homestead is a headlock in a coat of arms
To the words that you say but you never deliver
You face up to the potluck but the beat goes on
Cos the voice in your head only whispers
What makes you sure, and who's to say
That you can turn thе key and lock your shame away
Some favour pity, it's a pity thеy do
It's a shame the foothold seems to keep on falling through