BECOMING THE ME I WAS ALWAYS MEANT TO BECOME
Oh, the way I haunted those hostels.
Stumbling around with near fatal hang overs,
Dripping sweat from my face,
Never having any recollection
Of the havoc I’d raised
Or the hell I’d unleashed the night before.
The people I’d offended
Or the enemies I’d made.
And the people, most of them kids almost,
They’d gawk at me when I passed through,
As I lumbered along, sore feet and wounded leg,
Coughing and spitting and just being
The nasty old fuck I’d always longed to become.
Every now and then I’d stop,
turn and look at them and snarl,
“oh, what the hell?”