Cure The Sickness

They rushed towards my fallen body as I clutched my chest
The newest in a long line of fucked cardiac arrests
Tunnel vision eclipsed my eyes, I could see the future
My whole life in a bubble starring me: the abuser
I'd always been the lowlife, even coke-d to the eyeballs
In a suit and tie dispensing shit like coffee to my rivals
24 hour party people, I had the membership
And no divine intervention would see the end of it

I steadied myself on the people, but I pass right through them
Is this a prank? Some kind of bodiless union?
I’m detached, gravity becomes an analogue switch
Struggling to keep my footing, has it come to this?
Images pass my eyes in rapid fire flashback
My life as a tableaux, how I want to trash that!

At 6 I was abandoned to the private school sector
To the hands of men with canes, the priests and molesters
Hard pallets to sleep on, they said ‘it built character’
As did beatings from the teachers, each strike a narrator
They told me I was a heathen and the purest dipshit
And this was for my own good, they could cure the sickness

I graduated with bruises at age 11 to Eton
My parents now like TV special guests whenever I meet them
So, to another dorm and cruelty in another form
My peers had no morale compasses to navigate from
So it was daily war amidst upper civilisation
Violence mixed with etiquette, and now, how I hate them!
I realised if life was as cruel as what I had witnessed
I should use my own anger as a cure for my sickness

21, now I’m a free man, but chained to a desk
In a 9 to 5 firm, mentally deranging at best
Watching the clock shave minutes off of time’s chin
My mind a bloodbath; thoughts are an axe I’m grinding
So I visualise a million scenarios of rape and murder
Punctuate it with white lines to take it further
Hammer my stress out on a keyboard and grit my teeth
Slam reports on my supervisor’s desk on mid-week
I know my stress level is rising so I vent my pain
Torture animals until they’re eventually slain
Of course, the next step was a logical one
And homeless people don’t count as real to a prodigal son
A late night stabbing in a dark alley is hunting for the witless
It helps me through the day to day; it’s the cure for my sickness

The time is now, i'm 28, and out of control
My heart hammers a tango, a shout from my soul
Guilt runs like a cancer through my vein’s pitiless
The heart attack gave me peace, it was the cure for my sickness