Typical bloke.
Flanny, wife beater, blue jeans, work boots
Rough around the edges
12 hour shifts on the daily.

Split with the missus
A while ago now
Misses the kids
Works like a machine.

Knocks off at dusk
Sits out the back
Punchin darts and sippn bevs
It's all he knows.

He doesn't eat as well as he should
Microwaved feeds and barbecues
Saves on dishes, doesn't mind fishn
Pays his child support as required.

All he knows is work
Cutla mates he doesn't often see
He gets choked up but swallows the pain
Just to get through his work day.

He doesn't ring his kids
As he doesn't know where they're at
So, he punches darts and sips bevs
Out the back.

He reeks of loneliness
He doesn't have much to say
He just asks us questions
To which we reply, vaguely.

He tries...
But he is so disconnected
So broken and out of touch
I miss who he used to be so much.

Always on his own
With the blade to his wrist
Fate tempting the twist
But always ends up clenched fist.

He built this nest
The same place he *****
Akin to his demons
Typical bloke.