Aching, battered and bruised.

But it’s what I do, what I choose.

When I was just 16 years old.

Into the pit I went, since then I was sold.

The Music, the violence, the danger, the life.

I can’t watch a band and stand still all night.

I need to feel the aggression in raw form.

Thrashing around kicking up a storm.

But I fear as age creeps up I’ll not keep the pace.

I’ll look a fool not aging with grace.

Then think fuck it! That’s my I’m here!

And I’ll suffer tomorrow, but not shed a tear.

For I know I’ve been true to my cause.

And I’ll keep thrashing til they close my tomb door.

4 thoughts on “Thrashing

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