Awkward & Real

I must

I must keep it awkward and real

If it’s not awkward and real I won’t do it

I won’t do it yeah

I hope I don’t turn into a marionette

with tiny invisible strings

filling my life with tiny bad bobs that are timed to explode

just so the audience will know exactly when to laugh Pavlov’s dog fashion

Real life? Well that’s not real life.

Real life is being held captive in your own at five am while your spouse is being attacked

Knowing right well inside that even if the next door neighbour happened to hear you scream well you’ve been putting him on the pay no mind list for the past five years because eh

What you must do is stick your finger up into the sky a piece of electricty you must steal your skin will peel, then you’ll know you’re awkward and real

Awkward and real that’s the way you must feel

Stick your finger up to the sky a piece of electricity you must steal

I must

I must keep it

I must keep it awkward and real

If it’s not awkward and real I won’t do it

I hope I don’t turn into one of those singers who fills his set with all sorts of false angry songs with an expression on my face that lets you know I’m probably thinking of what I’m going to eat later that evening or the cheque I’m going to get because real life – that’s not real life

You need to – you need to properly uplift those that feel numb

That are pissed off listening to the empty heads and the crap filling all their empty lives because basically if you’ve no faith in yourself you’re going to turn into idiot meal your skin will peel

That’s why you must keep it keep it awkward and real

Awkward and real that’s the way you must feel

Men who saved the face of football

Hey-hey, Nobby Stiles, oh what a goal, let’s hear it for the men who tried to save the face of football.

Two life time supporters left the stadium known as Oriel Park, it was getting dark, a little rough on the stands.

They went to the Supporters Club for a drink, what can you do when thugs shout “Mr Magoo, Mr Magoo” at you, and green and brown alumninium cans go flying each side of you.

At 10pm someone phoned the supporters bar, said lads had been on the street interfering with parked cars. When they got outside, the windscreen it was sort of stars, and lonely rear-wing mirrors lying lonely in the side of the roads.

Can you feel it? Yeah a Bryan Adams song oozing out over the loudspeakers, feeling like a stallion one Sunday every week, from Dominican church way past St Gerrards Hall. All the fights between the bastions the titans of summer league football.

Steve Heighway’s toenails, Satzenbrau, pub crawl, 6875, the Mujahadeen, the Linfield Riots, now they’ve got security gates to stop the kids drinking behind the wall, so you can tell yourself that you’re the man who saved the face of football.

It was a gulag in the white sea, 1933, Trotsky, circa Italia 90 an electronics factory. The lower tier management at the firm changed the workshifts round for when the home teams played. Their eyes said ‘be proud you, your country’s playing today’ but I knew I’d be an outcast at seven when my friends showed me bubblegum playing cards of Everton and Stoke City.

The players in the photographs looked like they had Steptoe and Son sideburns to me, and I laughed with glee, I didn’t realise my friends were standing behind me and their eyes were getting very, very glassy.

Bryan Adams “Run to You” coming out over the loudspeakers, trying to escape from the missus one Sunday every week. Badger haired team captain, owns sport shop now yeah, he knew them all, Johnny Onion, Feedback Freddie, M Bromley, Bruce Grobelaaar

Steve Heighway’s toenails, Satzenbrau, pub crawl, 6875, the Mujahadeen, the Linfield Riots, now your wife and kids like zombies roam the shopping malls. But inside you are the colossus, the id, the gaius Caesar of football. We played a great game last night he said. What do you mean we, those guys are making billions they don’t care about you and me, and when the tournaments over, your pockets are empty. The furniture is still HP, but the bars and off-licences made plenty. Hey hey hey Nobby Stiles, oh what a goooal!!

My Head is Slowly Disappearing up my own Arse

Too much comfort is like hydrochloric acid it’s corrosive it makes you feel like you’re five years old again

tadpole or foetus in ambiotic fluid

Remember the soldiers who were victorious behind the city walls became no longer warriors they over ate and over drank they turned to marmots with legs and arms and heads

Then the saracens invaded,

Yeah, they killed all their women and children

And my head is slowly disappearing up my own arse

My head is slowly disappearing up my own arse

Too much comfort is like hydrochloric acid it makes you feel like you’re five years old again

And my head is slowly disappearing up my own arse

The house is warm numbing here, these are the times of thermostat wars I am institutionalised behind walls my house is like purgatory box

I use a machine of plastic steel and glass to take me nasty places I haven’t seen before without leaving the room I start at ten pm next minuite I know it’s bright it’s nine am and leaving the the house I’m sure I’ve seen a rose bush outside I haven’t seen in six months and across the road from me there before me I see a housing estate I’ve never seen before

And my head is slowly disappearing up my own arse

Too much comfort is like hydrochloric acid

I used to put on a tape recorder answering machione type voice at work it makes life easier makes things easier

And then I remember being eighteen years of age and hating anyone that put on a sort of a masked put-on voice

I almost feel I am at an airport escalator that’s picking up speed my bags are here my head is here

But my head is slowly disappearing up my own arse

My head is slowly disappearing up my own arse

Slowly slowly