A life is long and full of surprises,
A web of a thousand jigsaw pieces,
Life is hard and can be hell,
I’ve a story for you to tell,
A boy born just about in wedlock,
Many moons ago,
When life was more fragile,
And technology was science fiction,
A boy played with simple things,
A football disguised as a tin can,
The girls skipped in the middle,
Of the street without many cars,
Dolls were still held by girls,
No phones, No poodles, no make up,
They were simple back then,
No internet, no threat,
Just a country collapsing into debt,
This boy who walked for miles,
In rain and wind and snow,
This boy who cycled for miles,
We don’t get around the block now,
And everything was peaceful then,
Parents were naive back then,
They were still angry with him back then,
They slapped him every now and then,
And the web of life brought surprises,
For beyond the means of a young boy,
Ripped out of his kingdom at,
Such a fragile delicate age,
So the boy found himself in an inner city,
Even the cat was intimidated by the neighbours,
It seemed the sun went away,
After they moved on that bastard of a day,
The little boy fell from his high hopes,
Into a deep dark well of barbed wire,
So damp and dark and bleak and night,
Like a witch hunted, others prepared the pyre,
Never fitting in, too harsh an environment,
The cats had longer claws,
And here in the inner city,
They were not just for show,
They were always ready to be used,
A little out-of-place, boy abused,
Pulped with words, bruised some pride,
Strangled by insecurities, Just wanting to hide,
Feeling weak, feeling alone,
No one to turn to, not even those at home,
Nobody else could see,
What was going on , really,
As the dark well full of barbed wire,
Sucked the little boy in deeper,
Scarred for life from the darkness,
The claws, the bruises, the abuse,
Nothing sexual , just all mental,
For the boy those days never seemed to end,
For the boy who cannot remember blue skies,
For the boy, confusion, contusion, frustration,
What seemed a lifetime was only a few years,
On the move again, trying to save some dignity,
Moved into another area, still not happy,
The boy a fragile little mess,
No ID, no DNA, no direction,
Even though the barbed wire was gone,
The dark deep mysterious well remained,
Nothing was as bad as before,
But still beaten but a little less sore,
Surviving the now big boy survived,
With tears in his angry eyes,
Somewhere in this period was born,
Some attitude, some thought it was rude,
It was the little boy inside fighting back,
After all the bullshit, attack,
Trying to climb out of a hole,
Hurting everyone, Hurting all,
This boy took revenge on everyone,
From the bullying of the few,
Confused and startled and off the rails,
It was the only thing it could do,
Growing now and leaving school,
There was still industry back then,
Training to be something he could not be,
Still messed up and dancing with insanity,
Growing now, finding an identity,
Finding music, finding alcohol,
Finding trouble, being free,
Everything involved alcohol,
Choices made under the influence,
It was thought being a real man,
Was about being really drunk,
It was an image advertised everywhere,
Nothing but a damaged loser punk,
As the tracks led to a place called demise,
Hiding behind a few beers, a life of lies,
One job led to another, fighting with mother,
Leaving home and leaving sanity,
Creating a life full of agony,
Being headstrong and being an idiot,
But the little boy survived, now a man,
Or so they say or so the said,
The little boy gone maybe dead,
Now a man, twisted in the head,
Not following rules, just living day by day,
Some days harder than others,
But this now drunken man survived,
Through music and through reading,
He did not go too far off the rails,
He never got too near suicide,
Only paper cuts and some regrets,
The little boy now a man survived,
Decisions made still in haste,
And the man decided to leave that place,
Start a new adventure, something new,
Something that in the end, saved him,
Another country, another style,
Another sky, now blue,
A permanent frown, now a slight smile,
A new job, a few problems remained,
Insecurities and headstrong,
Problems with the language and being underlined,
Frustrated in a lonely life,
The alcohol flowed with thoughts of suicide,
In the mists of midnight,
And the dew of the morning,
But the man survived,
Carrying scars a little deeper,
Midlife crisis was childs play,
This man learned to live again,
This idiot learned to love again,
And as the decades passed by,
Embraced by a southern girl,
Loved by family and here was born,
A new man with the same old scars,
But the man finally learned to carry the baggage,
Of a tormented, tornadic past,
The lass helped him carry on,
This now old man was at peace at last,
He survived somehow against the odds,
In the beginning he did not do much right,
But in the end he learnt the ropes,
He got through all the bullshit in the end,
And so as this weak old man,
Lies on his bed surrounded by all,
That make his life pleasant in the end,
Family and kids, so many kids,
Southern families are so big,
With a bedroom with so many faces,
All the love of this old man was here,
Smiling weakly, sadly, silently,
And as the old man looks back on his years,
It was not really all that bad,
It brought him here in the end,
And that is not at all sad,
As he says bye bye for the last time,
He sends his family out in single file,
Leaving beside him his saviour and southern girl,
And at last he gives his last final smile.