This savage tongue, my barbaric tone-
your expense and my decadence,
when all there is are roads and buildings.
You’re cultured, you’re designing the curve-
and we’re all leeches on your world.
Backwards in time, deprived of intelligent mind-
the same species yet a less important kind,
we share a flag you know.
I’m uneducated, destined for the dole-
and you’re all playing a more important role.
I’m all foreign, from particulars to origin-
well, at least I’m not trying to not be boring,
but are you what you are?
The bittersweet life of hipster imitation-
constantly digging for something unique in your faking.
You can’t educate me on what I already know-
from the drug raids to the food banks,
you have never ventured, what does that show?
I acknowledge my life doesn’t always get it right-
but thankfully it doesn’t revolve around hashtags,
filters, emoji’s and building a life fit for a website.
She’s hell of a girl, she’ll take you to that extent-
where your kneecaps become all bent and your eyes
turn to liquid and you can’t stick your tongue out fast enough.
Your mind is an ice-rink and she’s eager to butterfly-
her thumb will get itself comfortable on your forehead,
jeer your mates goodbye.
Sometimes you’ll meet yourself at the bottom of the bottle-
where your elbows become all crooked and your mouth
turns to a serpent and you can’t bite your tongue fast enough.
You’re hell of a boy, you’ll take her to the extent-
where her hips become all bent and her eyes
turn to drops of rain and you can’t reach out fast enough.
Sometimes she will catch herself dashing towards the door-
leaving a note, saying she won’t take it anymore.
Her mouth turns to ashes and her body loses its frame,
she becomes the serpent and slips her love away.
You keep asking me to change,
I know I am not as perfect as you in many ways,
but with the menu booklet in your hand,
you love me just the way I am.
I am certified dickhead in saying things I don’t mean,
I’m winding you up I am,
Most of the time it’s just for the reaction,
but all of the time I need a renewal of attraction.
You know how I feel by the way I pretend I don’t,
you want to be the only one to love me, but you won’t,
we work well together, fighting the whole world,
but I’m not fighting with you for it my girl.
So forgive me if I don’t intend on hanging around,
can’t get my head up above the water if you put your foot down.
I don’t enjoy hanging on to your thread,
much rather that it gets itself comfortable around my neck.
There is no effort in love,
there is no effort in love,
but are you worth the effort my love?
So young. So much left to do. So much and yet so little.
Years unspent, memories that will never be kept.
He died, there is a coffin now and he died.
He died, there is a hearse now and he died.
He died, there is a six foot hole and he died.
And that is all they will say today.
But he lived, my god he lived beyond us all.
Us who breathe, us who gain weight and drink whiskey-
he lived and sparked ferocious laughter that shook sound waves.
He lived beyond a 100 years and died before 30 years.
But he was not counting, we are the ones counting.
So, who are the ones living?
Funerals are late arrivals to celebrations of life,
reminds the dead that we (thankfully) have life for today.
We do not bury a dead son, brother, friend and lover today.
For he was never dead, we are never dead.
In reality, we begin to die soon as we start living.
Honestly, we die each day we are not fully living.
We speak of death more than we speak of the name,
we talk of loss more than we talk of what we gained,
we shed pain more than we cherish the light,
but remember, there must be stars before there is night.