Paul Donnachie

We believe it’s a disease,
And slagged her off because she wouldn’t give him pity.
But really we’re falling faster than faith,
And drowning in murky waters of no self-discipline.
But we were born to shine.
I was born to shine.
Turning points reap ambition reclamation.

A spoilt soul,
A burning hole of darkness,
Smouldering fire of yesterday’s innocence.
The portrait is black.
Take it down, paint a new one.
Blackened again.

The secret’s out,
A mother mourns for her loss,
A blue eyed boy, gone.
Sheds tears, the years have changed him.
Remembering a child she loved,
Seeing a man she doesn’t.

How the high star falls,
How the day fades,
Until after just two decades, night reigns.
The Dawn seems distant.
Potential pissed to a cold wind,
The only son, prodigal.

Too many raised voices,
Too many sins, consumptive nihilism.
An implausible saviour, fiercely desired,
Suspend your disbelief and make Pascal’s wager,
Though it defies all logic.
Why would a good God give me life?

There is no end, yet.
The final verse unwritten,
Suicide or salvation,
Damnation or deliverance.
The moment is crucial.
All bets are on.

Just think of the money,
This the people say,
As I sit here on the checkout, and scan away the day.

Just think of the money,
Yes, that’s what I shall do,
As I sit here on this checkout and scan away my youth.

Just think of the money,
The cash, the greens, the swag.
I’d rather have a life sir, now would you like a bag?

Tick, tock, goes the
clock,
Your futures in your hands.
Tick, tock, goes the
clock,
It’s time to be a man.
Tick, tock goes the
clock,
They say we’ve got it easy,
but tick, tock, goes the
clock,
And this pressure’s got me queasy.