I remember the sickness was forever.
I remember snuff videos.
Cold Septembers,
the distances we covered,
the fistfights on the beach.
The Bizzies round us up.
Do it all again next week.
An embryonic love,
the first time that it scarred.
Embarrass yourself for someone
crying like a child.
And the boy who kicked Tom’s head in
still bugs me now.
That’s the thing, it lingers
and claws you when you’re down.
I was far too scared to hit him
but I would hit him in a heartbeat now.
That’s the thing with anger,
it begs to stick around
so it can fleece you of your beauty
and leave you spent with nowt to offer.
Makes you hurt the ones who love you.
You hurt them like they’re nothing.
(Oh-oh-oh-oh... oh-oh...)
You hurt them like they’re nothing.
(Oh-oh-oh-oh... oh-oh...)
You hurt them like they’re nothing.
(Oh-oh-oh-oh... oh-oh...)
See, I spent my teens enraged
spiralling in silence
and I armed myself with a grin
'cause I was always the fuckin' joker
buried in their humour
amongst the white noise and boys' boys,
locker room talkin' lads' lads,
drenched in cheap drink and snide fags.
A mirrored picture of my old man.
'Oh God, the kid’s a dab hand'
'Canny chanter, but he looks sad'
'God, the kid looks so sad!'
'God, the kid looks so sad!'
She said, 'The debt, the debt, the debt!',
so I thought about shifting gear.
And how she wept and wept and wept.
Luck came and died around here.
I see my mother,
the DWP see a number.
She cries on the floor encumbered,
'I’m seventeen going under!'
I’m seventeen going under.
(Oh-oh-oh-oh... oh-oh...)
I’m seventeen going under.
(Oh-oh-oh-oh... oh-oh...)
I’m seventeen going under.
(Oh-oh-oh-oh... oh-oh...)
I’m seventeen going under.
(Oh-oh-oh-oh... oh-oh...)
