Poor Fractured Atlas by Elvis Costello

He's out in the woods with his squirrel gun
To try to recapture his anger
He's screaming some words at the top of his lungs Until he begins to feel younger
But back at his desk in the city we find
Our trembling punch-drunken fighter
Who can't find the strength now to punish the length
Of the ribbon in his little typewriter.


Poor Fractured Atlas threw himself across the mattress
Waving his withering pencil
As if it were a pirate's cutlass.
I'm almost certain he's trying to increase his burden -
 He said "That's how the child in me planned it; A woman wouldn't understand it."
 
A woman wouldn't understand it.

I believe there was something that I wanted to say
Before I conclude this epistle

 But you would forgive me for holding my tongue
'Cause man made the blade and the pistol.
Yes man made the waterfall over the dam
To temper his tantrum with magic.
Now you can't be sure of that tent of azure
Since he punched a hole in the fabric

A woman wouldn't understand it.

 A woman wouldn't

 understand it.