Hear the weekend call out my name on a mixtape
    Beats the cursed kid of 2008 couldn't believe
Weakened by letters in envelopes and journals
    Every headline read like predictable junk mail
Stuffed into the pages of a life in solitude

    Punished himself for abandoning his youth
Cruelty continued and relegated progress
    The mess left built higher than a sugar rush
When the crash came, it was always Thursday

Smashed up faces of a watch, shoes split at the toes
Broken table legs, phones grazed from concrete
    The citizens continued, so he kept imploding

Each week came a late play-off final defeat
    Gifted a long-sleeve stained in grassy green
Our boy believed he grew into all of his spite
    But he had grime glued under them fingernails
As he typed bullet holes into a fledgling friendship

    There were times when he became addicted to life
Outside clubs dancing on the hands of the night
    Inside cabs singing with his underground band
Junkies will tell you all about hard landings

Infected with the sickness on his Isle of Bile    
   Mental health problems were an understatement
Like butcher's meat, he should have been sectioned

So in this bottled message to the day we're sailing out from
    Give thanks to the shipwrecks who touched sand
      Apologise for the storms and oceans left behind