Chin Up

I'm pissed at you because you're supposed to be my bro'.

When your blood met mine we made a promise,

a promise that that we'd always sweep eachother's path.

A promise.

Between us.

A promise that's now little more than a hazy memory…

… oh, a hazy memory

and the asshole of this elephant in the room.

We worked fucking

hard

to get so hardly fucked, and I don't want another

lesson in how to suck it up.

I don't want another lip to chew.

I want a shoulder to cry on.

A shoulder whose veins carry my spirit

when I'm too weak to remember it inside.

I mean, c'mon motherfucker!

If I dared swallow the panacean advice you snore at me these days,

my chin'd be so 'up' that the rest of me might take flight!

Ah, wait on.

Is that it?

D'you reckon I'd be better off without my feet on the ground?

Better off forgetting the root of this longing?

Better flying in the cloud of dreams and belief with

everyone else fighting

for a payrise and an extra week's rest leave?

They're OK clouds, man.

Honest.

I'm happy for you.

Honest…

… but honestly, can't you hear us both looking for a place to land?

Don't you remember when it was you dreaming?

Way back before they started writing the stories for you.

Please tell me you do, bro'

'cause I'm not sure I do.