There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you
When I die, I intend to walk alone
Through the streets where the corner boys commend me
For making peace with the inner child from the mobile home
I am handing back the medals that you pinned to my chest
We’re at war
It’s not safer in the open
And the padlock that you’re wearing around your neck
Is a target for the cold, hungry halfwits at dawn
Who are struggling to compose another drinking song
I feel safe amongst the hawkers and the gawkers
Telling stories scribbled down on decks of cards
Flicking marbles through a mud-stained maze of secondhand ideas
You draw a drag whilst admiring the sweet heads
Of a city in the morning by Jack B. Yeats
Who’s that at the door?
That’s only reality
Sure, let him in
Make sure he wipes his feet clean
Let us dissect the words from the markets and the factories
Bring me two glasses
There is work to be done
Fetch me two glasses
There is work to be done
Let us compare mothers and the madness in their methods
Let us compare fathers and the shape of their jawlines
Let us compare regretful sexual encounters
Let us compares addictions past and present
Let us compare voices that dance in our heads
Let us make a pact now
Let us spit in our hands
Let us compare songs that we wish we had written
Let us console one another
There is something I’ve been meaning to tell you
When I die, I intend to walk alone
Through the streets where the corner boys solute me
For making peace with the inner child from the mobile home
For losing sleep with the inner child from the mobile home
For counting sheep with the inner child from the mobile home
