#3 Lyrics

The war chief's log

I often find myself disassociating from the world

Scootering in a heartless city

Where no man will stop to wave you good morning

Instead

He'll tell you to get the fuck off the footpath

He calls you a hooligan and a dropkick

I stare up to the sky with my earphones in

Lost

And still I see there faces

I can't escape them

There nostalgia hunts me without stopping

I still see their faces everywhere I go

I feel there presence in every drop of liquor

And every splash of the ocean

My dad once told me

That the friends you gain

In your teenager years and early twenties

Are the deepest your ever have

I probably brushed him off back then

With a shrug and a smile

But

I never thought he'd be right

Since I've lived here

I've never felt a friendship

As authentic as the ones back home

A group of lads where you find comfort in letting off your mask

And just being yourselves

The brotherhood we shared was something

I struggled to see as special as it was

When I stood amongst them

I was just a kid terrified of being swallowed

By the small country town we lived in

The things we did for one another

The endless night's spent chasing girls

Intoxicated by flashing lights aside our suburban life

And those cosier nights locked in our houses

While the virus purged the outside

The errors

The trials

The arguments

The experiences

They were there for me when I needed them the most

When I was arrested

When my mum and dad split up

When we brawled on the train

When I bled

When I cried

And when I found peace in moving on

From the curly haired girls touch

They were there when I was ready to leave

For then I had found someone worthy of a wedding ring

A bittersweet ending

As we indulged in one last party

Aside the shores of utopia

I don't regret my decision to move on

And despite this

It was the best thing for me

For I have grew and changed in ways not possible

If I stayed back there

But sometimes

I still find myself disassociating from the world

And as I scooter around this city

Rushing from one job to the next

With only five minutes to get there

My hi vis equipped

And my apron tucked messily in my bag

My body and mind filled with anxiety and stress

And in those moments

I find myself staring at the sky

Reminiscing of my brethren

What I'd give to travel back in time

Just to go back

To one of those lousy Sunday afternoons

Hop in my astra

And drive the suburban roads to the pub

Where the boys are already there drinking

Smiling and chatting

Waving at me to join them on the table

Indulging in banter and play

We'd all head to the bar

And as the bartender approached me

I'd ask him

What's on happy hour

And he'd just reply

Our house lager

For seven dollars

I'd give him the money

And lick up my brew

Looking around in the venue

Feeling at peace again

Feeling at peace again