We went fishing my boy and me,
it was our holiday, he was excited
and I was sad.
Sad only for myself in a selfish destructive way.
We shared a tiny room
Seagulls nested on the rooftops,
I cried in my narrow little bed when he fell asleep.
I went to the bar and drank
because I was weak and selfish and broken.
In the morning we walked on the beach
I bought him a board and watched him having fun
I didn't join in,
I was too selfish, sad and broken.
I watched him from the shore and thought about drinking,
we ate great food together while I thought about drinking.
He was happy and beautiful and curious,
it was just me and him you see.
He loved that holiday just me and him,
although I was sad
because I was selfish and lonely and broken.
His happiness made me see what I had destroyed,
I loved him and feared for him.
Pathetic that I couldn't be happy for him
and just pull myself together.
On the long drive home we sang and laughed.
He hugged me so tight in front of his mum,
his sailors hat and fishing rod.
On the way back to my newly leased life
I stopped at the first pub pulled down my cap and went in.
I drank a battleship of sorrow like a spoilt Gypsy King,
I tore my hair and stabbed my thigh.
I swore at the juke box and sang too loud,
mostly because I was selfish and lonely and broken.
All that time of pain and torment
all that me me me
it's over now.
Strange to think that was my boys favourite holiday,
strange to recall that person I was.
I guess everything changes if you just give it time.