VERSE 1 Sat through that first lockdown, trying to keep my career going making fire rubbing stones, no lighter fuel just me blowing patience, frustration, boiling outside and beef with the neighbours everyday yet another grief and another project cancellation making P was hard enough now poison waters in the stream gutting out my industry, gold-rush towards live-stream Zoom gigs with latency, wi-fi’s unreliable. while everyone’s banging out Netflix, my focus on survival kept a routine with discipline, got fit, learned new things but my head was floating like a balloon, towards a wall of drawing pins mad moments of doubt kicking in, had to kick it out and keep kicking on outside it was kicking off, pent-up people out of jobs anaphylaxis in a hive full of bees, gave up on nightly news briefs untold conspiracy theories, unsure now what to believe meanwhile I’m trying to get P, pay my bills and keep it all going but I’m pissing in the wind, whichever way it’s blowing CHROUS Bored, round the house I’m in doors another week a new law a broken record in thought how long we doing this for? I’m going mental go and boil the kettle sit down settle, could be worse so what you whinging for? VERSE 2 A mate of my dad’s once told me, that where there’s war there’s money there aint a war but in the Amazon there’s a working-poor and they’re on zero hours packing parcels, driving vans, competition now barley stands high-street now a no-go, betting shops and pay-day loans Saturdays, school holidays, bop to town back then with your mates good times but what do kids do now, when they can’t even leave their house? encouraged to grass on the neighbours, old-bill in the local fields felt like a dystopian film but this one was real I’m looking out the window, wondering what way the world goes mug of tea in my hand, phone mum and dad and hold my wife close could be worse I guess, roof on my head, wardrobe full of clothes say a little prayer and look to the air, could do with a little dosage of hope text Conrad, he said we got to keep going he’s right, by hook or by crook I’m sat in this room with a book and it’s open minute by minute, day by day, week by week, we set little tasks and in ten years time, we get through this, I’ll sit with my wife and I’ll raise a glass CHROUS Bored, round the house I’m in doors another week a new law a broken record in thought how long we doing this for? I’m going mental sgo and boil the kettle sit down settle, could be worse so what you whinging for?

I’m a niche in a niche artform, why would I stress about a fanbase? I’m a needle in a hay-stack, where not a lot of people like hay that’s a (st)raw fact and I’m ok with that, I do this because I like it the best things in life are abstract, like a pineapple on a cyclist I do social media and yea, I could probably do a lot more but when it comes to working out what to do, I get overwhelmed by the thought I’m overwhelmed by the sheer amount of content that’s up on line and I’m meant to be one of them vying to occupy your mind there’s a finite amount of time that people have to spend watching things there’s bigger voices, with bigger arms and a bigger reach than me it seems if you scream loud enough the drawbridge will open up when the promised land on the other side is probably just as fucked I don’t wonna play that game and even if I did, I probably wouldn’t my status from the off would be like going to war with something wooden I waste time worrying about saying things that I probably shouldn’t when the goalposts shift like shit, after laxatives in a pudding sometimes I think back to all the jobs that I did and laugh when I’m whinging thinking things could be worse than this got mates that probably think I’m a prick, when I’m getting up on high-hourse when they’re getting up at four, doing a job that they find shit I moan about filling-out, hard questions on funding forms ranting on about, who writes these forms and who they’re written for when really I should be concentrating on making the things that I wonna make like writing bars where I embody everything that I flipping hate ‘shutup mate, you’re boring’ I’m boring mate, I know but what do I do about it, when so much gets my goat? I wish that I could be one of them that says that they don’t vote because they’re all a bunch of C-words, like corrupt, conniving and coke It’s a world of easy wins, putting things in boxes and bins but it’s never all that simple, good and evil what about in-between? yin and yang what happened to that? Like Mufasa on the mount there’s a darkside in the picture and I’m Simba trying to figure it out