Alex Harvey Swaz Silver Words May 2015
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|Title||:||Alex Harvey (Swaz) - Silver Words May 2015|
|Description||:|| Joe Citizen Jr. (By the Sea) |
Let’s call him Joe,
this kid’s home was a remote island town.
You might find him beach combing white blinding sand,
or climbing round the mighty high pine trees,
on the weekend he’d meet friends,
at the jetty with wettys and flippers on their feet -
"ready get setty” -
bomb drop into the sea
with all they need;
the slings and spears,
they’d sing and cheer when the catch was near.
But, for his friends and peers,
the lengthy period of repetition,
was seriously wearying and wearin’ thin,
and sheer boredom for them,
after more than 10 years.
It was then clear.
They used the school’s new cool fender gear
for the metal band;
foot pedal slammed,
in the assembly year - 1992.
Joe’s folks too broke to kindly buy him new clothes,
let alone a dear microphone.
He wrote songs on his own, his lonesome,
while his friends smoked bongs,
hydroponic grown the potions,
going through the motions,
with no scope, outlooks cloaked, about to choke.
Joe remained the fool hardy bloke,
stayed cool in the school yard with jokes.
He never did wish to pinch shit,
or be punchin’ at luncheons with the big kids.
Although he rode and kicked with,
the mischievous misfits,
who owned the show;
smokin' and drinkin'.
Falls victim to reckless compulsive instincts,
a rural teen with dreams that seem all too distant,
and summing up;
he’s simply taking the wrong risks to bring them into existence.
‘Cause its cunnin' stunts in the summer months,
lighten brush fires, kicking coke cans on the road and popping tyres,
all for adrenaline rush spikes,
they’re breaking into houses and knocking off the people’s most prized.
Misguided youth coming up,
sometimes only just loving life.
Frequently low and lonely;
an upset nervous wreck can describe his bi-polar type of mind;
nought foresight for what sorta might happen in his future,
borderline thoughts of self abuse,
fathers gun could be a shooter.
This captures the mind of what he now finds himself to be
a massive loser.
After trouble with the pigs and a family that crumbled to bits,
he struggles with the everyday things.
As time changes his age,
and an unkind social plague gets set in place,
a once knockabout young guy;
a junior apostle of larrikin life,
believes he will be beaten down into a caged parrot,
if he gives in,
swallows his pride,
and succumbs to the prison of conformist living.
Pangs pinch him,
is he a juvenile or a young man flinching?
Hope, love and real friendship are a missing lynchpin.
Life never gently simmering,
only boiling or ice cold.
Nearly given up with toiling,
when life is too much like parole;
be on your best behaviour,
as a whole glorious nature surrounds,
but has he become outta touch to its remedy -
his soul cuffed; remote controlled by an unknown enemy?
Still the land feeds an energy,
flames are set free through the trees,
feathers and seeds drop on charred landscapes,
he says to the breeze:
“men are brilliant beats, we can’t be tamed entities”
“.. yo.. aren’t you sick of this, yeah, come and get a bit of this.. just a little hit. It’ll take you to where your spirit lives, everything so smooth and clear as shit...”
He’s got associates that cook meth,
so he exhales the goodness,
and inhales the bullshit,
now he’s full with chest pains and fever;
breathing not easy,
as the sirens sound.
He’s caught in a circle, a cycle; vicious.
Deep seated wishes,
for him to make it to the other side.
Can he live out the rest of his life
or will he die..?
for you to decide
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