And alright I probably am. But who fuckin’ isn’t? You were a cunt. Who really, deep down inside, isn’t a complete cunt? At least I’m ready to try.

I want to be on stage in front of thousands of screaming fans, doing something fuckin’ great, and smiling like it’s no big deal. But every time I sit down to practice my guitar, I end

up fantasising about sell-out shows while I play the same

shitty riff I been playing for years. And you know what, it’s kind of the same with her.

And as it is I got nothing going on. Not really. Ted thinks I got this glamourous lifestyle, but it’s all bullshit, I hang out with people that spend the whole night looking over my shoulder in case something more interesting’s happening behind me, and they all think my band’s a joke, I mean, they think we’re actually joking, but we’re not. And all my songs are fuckin’ shit. Well, ‘she purrs my motorbike’ is actually pretty good but fuck sake, I work in a bar and I have an epiphany every other fuckin’ day, then as soon as I got a couple beers in me I’m back to square one, repeating the same conversations I’ve had a thousand times over and creeping around looking for someone to give me a line and I don’t want to be this man anymore.

Thing is, in a few hours – I’ll be staring at her name on my phone, too late to call, coz she’ll be gone, and I’ll just be sat there like a prick, staring at the shape of the letters, the way they fit together, so perfect, just like her, and I’ll sit there, wishing I could show her that when I’m with her I feel so fuckin’ real, like, not pretending nothing, just who I am. I feel like I can be the man I want to be. And I do want to be that man, Tony. I do. But for some reason. For some fuckin’ reason.

And then I’ll catch my reflection in between the letters of her name, face like a car crash, and I’ll make the same fuckin’ promises I make every morning. Tell myself I’m changing things. That this is it.

But then I suppose, if we could all be the men we wanted to be, this caff would be full of secret agents and movie stars, wouldn’t it? As it is, Tony, it’s that guy drinking milk and talking to the walls, that guy eating beans with no teeth, and me. All of us, regretting the decisions we never had the guts to make.

And she’s gone. She’s fuckin’ gone. So you’re lucky really.

Chorus Four

Two And so,

One We have music,

Two We have love,

One We have each other,

Three But it ain’t enough.

Two So we get ruined, taking drugs to feel,

One And it feels

All Good.

Two Coz in these vacant sub-day days that turn the blood,