An extremely quiet child, he called you in your school reports. He's always taken interest in the subjects he's been taught. So what was it that brought the squad car screaming up your drive? To notify your parents of the manner in which you die? St. Patrick's every Sunday, Father Fletcher heard your sins. He's unconcerned with competition, he never cares to win. But blood stained a young hand that never, never held a gun. His parents never thought of him as their troublesome. Now you'll never get to heaven, Mama says. Remember Mama says. Tickin', tickin', more of straight and true blue run along to bed. Hear it, hear it, tickin', tickin'. He had you holed up in a downtown bar, screaming for a priest. Some cook said his ranger snapped, and someone called the police. You'd knifed a Negro waiter who had tried to calm you down. Or you pulled a gun, you told them all to lay still on the ground. Promising to hurt no one, providing they were still. A young man tried to make a break, with tear-filled eyes you killed. That gun butt felt so warm and smooth, cradled in your palm. When your childhood cried out in your head, they mean to do you harm. Don't ever ride on the devil's knee, Mama said. Remember Mama said. Tickin', tickin', pay your penance well, my child, and fear where angels tread. Hear it, hear it, tickin', tickin'. Then another news had reached the media machine. A male Caucasian with a gun was gone berserk in Queens. The area had been sealed off, the kids had all gone to school. Fourteen people landed in a bar, and they called the kicker. They pleaded to your sanity, for the sake of those inside. Throw out your gun, walk out slow, just keep your hearts held high. But they pumped you full of rifle shells as you stepped out the door. Well, you danced in death like a marionette, on the vengeance of the Lord. You slept too long in silence, Mama said. Remember Mama said. Tickin', tickin', crazy boy, you'll only wind up with strange notions in your head. Hear it, hear it, tickin', tickin'. Tickin', tickin', crazy boy, you'll only wind up with strange notions in your head. Tickin', tickin'.