1. |
Digging
02:55
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Step back, then step right back in
This explanation’s turning south
Only fools down their tools when they’ve got their foot lodged in their mouth
In efforts to prise it loose
I find I’m talking shit again
But I power through and all hell ensues
I’ve increased the damage by a factor of 10
In the fallout of a devastating failure I can’t stop myself from digging even closer to the wreck until the toxic radiation of my self-destructive conversation burns right through my tongue and now I’m left here with my tail between my legs
The air deflates
My lungs collapsing inwards
I gasp (oh fuck)
My hopes reduced to cinders
I should stop. At this point there’s no-one else to put the blame on
Nice try, don’t lie
There’s plenty more where that came from
Legs are locked and firmly rooted in a pseudo state of shock
I wish that feeling this exposed was unexpected but it’s not
Because every time I send a message or pick out some words to say
I have to think it through 3 times to check that I don’t sound deranged
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2. |
Twelve Days A Year
02:21
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I don’t care if you hate me
I hate myself to a more hostile degree when the heat stops, and the rain drops on the tarmac
The smell of petrichor never gets old
Brings back the memories of my blood running cold and the long days and the long nights in the pitch black
That week alone wasn’t healthy, you see
Especially with the lack of vitamin D
Now, instead of petrichor, there’s petrol in my airways and I’m gagging for any form of relief
But my body clings to the filth like the soot on the sandstone tenements in the east end
And thanks to the non-stop and crippling indifference, I greet sadness and regret as an old friend would
I guess I accept that’s my life now
But I don’t accept that it can’t be changed
It’s always cold and dark up here except for those twelve days a year when the sun shines on the treelines and the pavement veneer
If I focus on those twelve days, not the cold and the dark and the rain, then I might find that I’m inclined to stick around to see those twelve days of sun next year.
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3. |
My Boring Life
02:21
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Brace yourself, you have been warned, for this the world’s most boring song
Penned by the world’s most boring man, whining just because he can
For him the boredom’s standardised, a constant in his boring life
The man who lives in apathy and, no surprise, the man is me
Ambition and motivation are strictly lacking in my list of traits
My own frustration with my stagnation is not done, so I’ll sit in bed and wait
Being just below average in every way doesn’t really bother me I have to say
The food I cook apparently tastes bland, just enough flavour to prove it’s not been canned
Not enough stubble to grow a beard but I leave it too long and my face looks weird
Can’t even bother to shave myself, another task for the ‘failure shelf’
And I can’t tell if I’m unhappy or if I secretly wish that were the case
Because that guy who’s so unhappy, would at least have an excuse for stuffing his face
From the day I’m married I wouldn’t complain if, until the day that I’m buried, my life was the same
The same routine of breathing in and then out and occasionally planting little seeds of doubt in my mind regarding every little choice that I make.
Scared of all the petty and inconsequential mistakes like embarking on a new career, about to begin, but after only seven weeks I might be packing it in…
…and I know that I’m a disaster, but not the cool kind with tattoos and scars;
I’m more like a middle-class prick who doesn’t know he’s born and doesn’t know how many days these dirty boxers have been worn
My boring life is the most boring by far
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4. |
Not Good Enough
03:50
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Another day of waking up to go and show the world I’m breaking up with every shred of self-belief I had before it went from fine to really bad
Now I have to use my morning shower to bring my pulse rate down and figure out how I’m going to make it through the day without embracing the urge to run away
But even if I make it through that time it doesn’t change a thing because I’m still sweating through my shirt thinking of tomorrow
And now it’s happening again, my chest is caving in, remembering how to breathe is getting tough. I’m panicked and I’m stressed whilst I’m trying to suppress the realisation and acceptance that I’m just not good enough.
Even when I’ve sorted myself out and I’m no longer getting in and shouting at the dickhead in the mirror who can’t get his frantic thoughts together, I’m still not getting where I need to be which amplifies the new anxieties that now shift their focus from broken souls to the redundancy of working hard to make them whole.
It’s sad that now I’m too far on to give myself a break by doing the world a favour by not stepping out my door
On the bus ride back I read a book to take my mind off the knots that have tightened up inside my stomach, in my heart and in my brain. But those books keep reminding me of my seemingly consistent inadequacies with bullet points telling me what I’m doing wrong.
Maybe if I close my eyes and cross my fingers really tight, I won’t be so shit at things I once believed were my real strengths and my best traits. But now it’s a bit too late to persevere with dreams which now seem so naïve.
Fuck off, I don’t care. I am perfectly aware that your criticism comes with good intent. But right now, I’m not in a state to reflect and contemplate on the actions I so fervently resent.
And now it’s happening again, my chest is caving in, remembering how to breathe is getting tough. I’m panicked and I’m stressed but I think you could have guessed that I find it hard to think straight because I think that I could, and I know that I should, and I wish that I would accept I’m just not good enough.
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5. |
Knife To The Eye
02:33
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I want something to sink my teeth in
I’m sick, frustrated, staring and thinking
With all the clarity of a rabid dog
There’s too much drool, too much flesh and way too much blood
You say you want a friend
Just one more helping hand
No remedy, this downfall with a knife to the eye
No matter what, I’m leaving here blind
What you want is not what you should get
Salus populi suprema lex
Prey on orphans and on widows
Close the canals and shut those fucking windows
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