some parents are able to give real emotion
yet some are made of whiskey and coke
and in all the childhood commotion
some parents become a poorly executed joke

i am shouting
i am hurting
i am working
the pay is bad
so i write another story

from london to southend
from bright lights
to small but loveable town
from crazy neon nights
to daily bouts of feeling down

looking for a distant friend
you interrupted me in my sleep

i try to understand what it is all about
i feel people find me hard to understand
i would like the benefit of doubt

they laid me to rest
closed my eyes
so still i slept

all alone in a big bad world
on a big bad day
one that steals a dreamers’ dreams
and leaves you with nothing to say

fingers move
reaching for the tall
brain seems muddled
or perhaps too full

this day, that day
count the hours
they all seem the same
too many problems
not nearly enough solutions