@MattAbbottPoet

@MattAbbottPoet
Image © Copyright Amy Charles Media 2014

18 Aug 2009

Lowlife


When there’s nothing left for death to take away
You strain yourself to struggle through the day
You have the gift of isolation
Starved from sight or conversation
You’re paralysed, you’ve never been so scared
In the depths of your mind, where mercy is spared
You’re searching for a reason to be sober
Never been dry since that week in October
And you can’t find the comfort in conform
You just shudder, shelter from the norm
It’s all you know, oh

I’m so sick of this, I’m so tired of this
I’m so sick of this lowlife, fuck right off with the same old bullshit
I’m so sick of this, I’m so tired of this
I’m so sick of this goddamn lowlife that I inhabit

When the only words she’s giving you are cold
The memories you cling to are desperately old
Reluctantly hiding in resistance
Find yourself questioning your existence
And all you want is something more
But you can’t unlock your bedroom door
And she’d sooner sleep alone than stay
When there’s nothing left for death to take away
Destruction has found its full throttle
You can’t see past the bottom of the bottle
It’s all you know, oh

I’m so sick of this, I’m so tired of this
I’m so sick of this lowlife, fuck right off with the same old bullshit
I’m so sick of this, I’m so tired of this
I’m so sick of this goddamn lowlife that I inhabit

When there’s nothing left for death to take away
You strain yourself to drag from day to day
Eyes wide open, arms aloft
You scream at the world to fuck right off
When you can’t unlock your bedroom door
And there’s nothing left worth fighting for
You’ll find that bottle, find that vein
The deeper you get, the sweeter the pain

And you’re far too scared the find the truth
You miss the blanket of your youth
When you wake in the morning, you can’t bear to face
The reflection before you, that fucking disgrace
You step outside but no-one’s there
You hide behind an icy stare
When you slip to the shadows and sink to the street
Hands in your pockets, eyes on your feet
And you’ve never got money, it’s pissed up the wall
You run from your family, too scared to call
When your girlfriend ignores you, she doesn’t exist
You carry a warning, constantly pissed
And there’s nothing left, it drags you further
There’s nothing left, it drags you further
There’s nothing left, it drags you further
There’s nothing left to fade away
And there’s no existence, you can’t resist
No existence, you can’t resist
There’s no existence, you can’t resist, oh
There’s no existence, you can’t resist
No existence, you can’t resist
There’s no existence, you can’t resist, oh

2 comments:

  1. I work with disadvantaged young people and instead of reading conventional poetry we read song lyrics, this is a great one to use. Thank you. I saw you at The Cluny in Newcastle....great gig. (especially liked your rant at the end about multi-culturalism...do you have these lyrics?)

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    Replies
    1. Hello,
      Thanks for your comment. It means a lot to hear that my lyrics were used in this way. If you want me to do a reading at some point, feel free to contact me at iammattabbott@gmail.com

      Here are the lyrics to the anti-racism piece:

      The BNP want everything that's "foreign" to be sent back to where it came from, and for Britain to be full of British things and nothing else.
      Now the most British thing in the world is a good old piss up; a good old night out.
      And what exactly do you do on a British night out?

      You go up the road to an Irish pub,
      Sup some Belgian beers,
      Nip out for some grub,
      You find the nearest take-out and eat a Turkish kebab,
      Get driven home by an Asian in the back of a German cab,
      You fall asleep in an armchair that you bought in a Swedish shop,
      Watching American shows on a Japanase telly...
      Just tell me when to stop!

      The fact of the matter is, the BNP are talking crap, so don't love BNP, Love Music, and Hate Racism.

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