Someone has to be
In the midst of this bleakness
I cannot understand why everything is
Quite so grey
And concrete
Has replaced the daffodils:
All the struggles
Of this world of war
And I can't stand on my own two feet
Unless I'm dreaming
Or maybe drunk

This pressure and this tension
Keeps my eyes from closing
And makes me feel so horrified
And yet somehow
There is something of the mystical
Of St Petersburg
In the nineteenth century
That claws at the back of my mind.

This misery
It traps me in between dull teeth
And I can only trudge along
And listen to the beating of my heart

As my legs ache
And feel like lead

I'm not using metaphor
And I'm not saying
That I don't mean
This one is real
And this grey concrete
Is a heart of sorts

The tarnished melancholy
Makes me feel at home
I cannot weep
Because I am too tired
And quite fatigued
But you don't know,
You man of leisure
With not a care
In the world

Your miseries
Are petty
And I would not spend a penny
On interpreting
Their meaning:
They are cheap and vain
And all I say is
That I still feel,
You never really realised
Anything about the truth

I say these things and I don't really
Realise the extent
To which I have to fight
I somehow have to find the time
To wipe myself away
And never hear my name again
This time it's all quite real
And I never thought
This concrete
Would be closing in
On me