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letra de little john - lg draft

little john

(lg draft a.k.a liam guthrie)

little john was just thirteen kicking juice cans up and down his scheme
all by his lonesome he holds some chalk that he borrowed from his cl-ssroom
he’s down on one knee as he starts to graph a hop scotch grid in great white squares on the foot path as he laughs to himself thinking
life as a kid at thirteen’s great with all this time too waste
imagination is his daily escape from his fate as he scr-pes in place a three in a square next to the two and tries to construe what his dad said when he left the crib the first morning of his weekend
before he closed the door here’s what his pops said
son these punks on the streets out there don’t care for nadda they snap every rung that they step on when they climb the ladder
punishment don’t mend their lack of transgression if i’m gonna teach you something son it’s this lesson
the journey of a lawbreaker’s like the journey of a fishing float. it’s all plane sailing to begin with. you’ll have your ups n downs like a merry-go-round but you will eventually be pulled under by the fish with the biggest hunger

little john dropped his chalk and continued to walk
the direction to him is unknown he tries to dodge the cracks with perfect precision foot placements like stepping on stepping stones
he’s all alone but showing no signs of misbehaving bad behaviour this so called chemical mind overhaul saviour weakens and t–ters the line the divides attainment and failure
failure to co-operate with the way the law operates can end with batons swinging and bullets piercing through armoured plates
the doc said please tolerate your mental state that incapacitates your lack to communicate with joyful living
sieving deep threw your limbic system coming up black not a single symptom
if there’s a fault then the doctors missed um
mum and dad kissed him every night every single night when they tucked in the sheets
mum squeezed dad’s hand and whispered son we won’t be beat

little john stood so nervous as he gazed at the derelict building
nothing in his head now but mischief and grief as he climbed up the steps to the garden entrance
it never lets in light all the flowers look like they’ve gave up in fright
only moss grows and weeds creep, creep in a maze of twisted tangle
reach for the door handle a voice in his head said so he did and he went in
musty smell of urine dust on the concrete floor like a carpet marked on the wall in black letters call my time is right here right now f-ck you all
my last living words my name is paul
little john took no notice he walked on, on the squeaky floorboards looking up at the second level foot on the first step hand on the railing
it rocked back and forth like rough sea sailing up another step hand back down on the railing
dustless footprints trailing he kept scaling
when he reached the top and the dust settled the sunlight was unveiling a spot he never knew existed but was listed in his subconscious like it kind of coexisted with a former life he once witnessed
he sat down on the ground next to the window shelf and took a deep breath to gather himself
thoughts in his head thoughts in his head left his mind

little john now as calm as a zephyr the weight on his shoulders lifted now as light as a feather
the pleasure in this endeavour never shows on his face as a brick dropped from his hand like dead weight
there no way he could calculate simulate navigate even orchestrate the combine split seconds in time from the length of his foot steps from the left to the right and the height of the bricks fall to the ground from its hole in the wall
it was no accident. it was one hundred percent meant
he’s looking down at himself as he bleeds on the cracked cement and c0ke spews in the gutter like drunken men
little john, little john, little john
little john flat on his back a pool of blood on the footpath. blood bath
the consequences of a bricks wrath dropped by a psychopath
the can of c0ke he kicked bounced off the kerb and hit the ground like little john had leaving another sticky puddle which mixed with the sodden bl–dy guddle muddy body contents
he looks down at himself from the window ledge when little johns eyes fogged and the drains ran clear little john disappeared with no fear

- lg draft

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