Jim Horde - #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 f*ck 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