State Hospital

The half back-flip conception, a state hospital birth

The most threadbare tall story the country's ever heard

Brought home to breathe smoke in the arms of her mother

With a blunt kitchen knife

Who just lays in a submissive position

Beneath the national weight and the slow arc of a fist

Her heart beats like a breeze block thrown down the stairs

Her blood is thicker than concrete, forced to be brave she was

Born into a grave

And in the limp three years of board schooling

She's accustomed to hearing that she could never run far

A slipped disc in the spine of community

A bloody curse word made pedestrian verse

Spirits in graveyards and fingers in car parks

She cries in the high street just to be heard

A screaming anchor for nothing in particular

At the foot of the f*ck of it, and dragging her heels in the dirt

Her heart beats like a breeze block thrown down the stairs

Her blood is thicker than concrete, forced to be brave she was

Born into a grave

The cheek of youth flushed red and turned gray

Now she lies on the pavement, she's helped to her feet

All thighs, hair, and magpie handbags

Saturday's uniform for the f*ck me parade

Brought home to keep warm in the arms of a plumber

Who's ruddy and balding

Who just needs a spine to dig into

A chest for the head, and a hand for the holding

Her heart beats like a breeze block thrown down the stairs

Her blood is thicker than concrete, forced to be brave she was

She was

Her heart beats like a breeze block thrown down the stairs

Her skin is thicker than concrete, forced to be brave she was

She was

A broken elevator anthem held between floors

But if blood is thicker than concrete, all of it is not lost

All is not lost

All is not lost

All is not lost

All is not lost