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Chewing on Tinfoil
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Shaving
I've been dragging razor blades over my face for about ten years straight, from the week I turned thirteen.
Well, yesterday I turned twenty-three.
Dad used to joke that he could shave with a knife.
I've never seen a cut on his face in all of my life.
I hope my skin thickens into the kind of man I want to be.
You're numb?
Yeah, sure, I've been numb.
It's when you have so many choices, you end up choosing none.
And you're bored, I think I know the sort.
As long as you don't end up there as your first resort.
One time a drunk news presenter from RTE, took the time out of her busy night to explain to me, that boredom is a pretty recent term and forty years ago, no one used the word
And there is so much more than this, some people survive by the skin of their wrist.
And I had to let you know.
I saw what was basically a child propped up on stage.
He proceeded to say nothing in the loudest way.
I lock my jaw so tight, point my eyes at the ground, in a futile effort to repel the sound.
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As my mind starts to wander away, it calls back just to ask me was I ever this way?
The chords seem so familiar, although his speech is slurred.
I notice we've the same shaving lines as he utters the words:
And there is so much more than this, some people survive by the skin of their wrist.
And I had to let you know
There is so much more than this, people survive by the skin of their wrist.
And I had to let you know
Things won't be the same again.
At six a.m.,
eight years ago, I was lying in the middle of the Old Bawn Road, singing '
I don't care if any cars come, I won't rise before the sun.'
At six a.m.,
eight years ago, I was lying in the middle of the Old Bawn Road, singing '
I don't care if any cars come, I won't rise before the sun.'
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