Your life's an upper cut.
Toughen up.
Shut it down then button up.
Men were meant for biting down their tongue.
Not letting nothing up.
Such is us.
Boys becoming blokes will never soften us.
Keep it on the inside,
Till your problems hide like sunken love.
Nothing but...
Sentiments and sentences of men are tough.
That's enough.
That's what we were told
But does it comfort much?
Nothing does.
Wish that we could speak it
And confront it cause...
Men are men who speak
It's never weak to say you struggle bud.
Like a dove.
We were meant to fly beyond the sea and mud.
But we're stuck.
Stuck inside a silence
And It hangs above.
Meaning what?
Meaning we should speak for men are needing love.
Please. Don't button up.
Open up.
For coping's twice as easy when friends know how to hold you up.
Drive Slow.
When you're leaving home.
I'll drive slow.
When I'm leaving home.
We say we'll stay ahead of this.
Dreaded it so bed it is.
And stay there under covers
Tween sessions of sleep and therapists.
Know that we weren't meant for this.
He's silent but he's sensitive.
And seeks a little shelter when sorrow sings in his penmanship.
Accepted it, this passing loner.
His past persona,
Asking 'who's squeezing you deep when smiles dies and laughters over'?
What happened?
He lost his love to Barcelona.
Serve me up some presence,
Cause mine is lying in last October.
Drive Slow.
When you're leaving home.
I'll drive slow.
When I'm leaving home.
