You *******
How dare you lie awake
And feel short-changed.
There are children in Africa-
No listen,
There are children in Africa
Did you know,
Eating dirt and drinking ****
And yet you lie there,
You *******
And lament the broken socket in the wall;
All those sorry women you didn’t lay.
What now?
A tantrum again, you *******
Your friends wont hit the town tonight,
And your woman wont let that depression bite,
So now your book will never get written
You ******* you ******* you *******
Your mother loved you
But it was the wrong kind of love.
And your father,
Your father left after you were born:
A peaceful death but a tasteless funeral.
He left before you could recall
A slamming of the door.
He left no trace for you to search
The corners of the Earth for his return.
There is a privation within you but you cannot create something out of nothing.
No, you needed a slam of a door,
And the ache of tension in your gut.
You needed the punch on your heartstrings,
To create the music and the art
That would finally validate your lack of colour.
Oh, you poor *******
Too unstable to hold down a job
And get a house in the burbs.
Too contented to set fire to the lot.
But I know you I do,
And you will pick up that guitar in a week or so
When I have set myself all tranquil-like
In the corner.
And you will try again,
Fruitlessly, may I add…
To concoct another potion of chords
To save another anonymous soul
That never needed saving.
And you hold out your hand
For just another ******* like yourself.
But I see you’re running late,
You must get to work.
You have small talk to be getting on with,
Yes, that dryness in your throat,
That heavy tongue
And those sentences you play out
In your head on your way into the office,
You know they will fall apart
Into useless, uninteresting stutters.
And the sweat under your armpits
Will cling to your ironed shirt
In your day-to-day panic attack
Of routine.
Yes, I’ll let you get on now,
And I will be waiting for you again
The next time you walk past a car window,
Or wash your hands in front of a mirror.
See you soon,
You *******
Dec 13, 2012
Dec 13, 2012 at 9:02 PM UTC
You *******
How dare you lie awake
And feel short-changed.
There are children in Africa-
No listen,
There are children in Africa
Did you know,
Eating dirt and drinking ****
And yet you lie there,
You *******
And lament the broken socket in the wall;
All those sorry women you didn’t lay.
What now?
A tantrum again, you *******
Your friends wont hit the town tonight,
And your woman wont let that depression bite,
So now your book will never get written
You ******* you ******* you *******
Your mother loved you
But it was the wrong kind of love.
And your father,
Your father left after you were born:
A peaceful death but a tasteless funeral.
He left before you could recall
A slamming of the door.
He left no trace for you to search
The corners of the Earth for his return.
There is a privation within you but you cannot create something out of nothing.
No, you needed a slam of a door,
And the ache of tension in your gut.
You needed the punch on your heartstrings,
To create the music and the art
That would finally validate your lack of colour.
Oh, you poor *******
Too unstable to hold down a job
And get a house in the burbs.
Too contented to set fire to the lot.
But I know you I do,
And you will pick up that guitar in a week or so
When I have set myself all tranquil-like
In the corner.
And you will try again,
Fruitlessly, may I add…
To concoct another potion of chords
To save another anonymous soul
That never needed saving.
And you hold out your hand
For just another ******* like yourself.
But I see you’re running late,
You must get to work.
You have small talk to be getting on with,
Yes, that dryness in your throat,
That heavy tongue
And those sentences you play out
In your head on your way into the office,
You know they will fall apart
Into useless, uninteresting stutters.
And the sweat under your armpits
Will cling to your ironed shirt
In your day-to-day panic attack
Of routine.
Yes, I’ll let you get on now,
And I will be waiting for you again
The next time you walk past a car window,
Or wash your hands in front of a mirror.
See you soon,
You *******
depression, self-doubt.
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