Dad mum, where your son counts his days though not his drinks,
these are my friends here and we are screwed together
through the coils of time into this eye of the storm, a jolly pub.
Don't understand us, we ourselves still wonder why we have to live here,
so intimate down to our last names, the rest is outside
where the wind blows and all things breakable break but harshly cheerful
told shards bleed us firmly together here.
I introduce you to those who are true to me as far as the door, their
hearty laughter at your slow old age, your wide collar, your silver perm.
This is dad mum from their village which yearns for me in time
come to see us in our lifetime, look how proud they are
of our speed, our success, and how devotedly detached.
Stand up, smash everything to pieces father, fight me away from here.