But if blood is thicker than concrete, all is not lost....

The half-backflip
Conception state hospital birth
The most threadbare, tall story the country has ever heard
Brought home to breath smoke in the arms of her mother
The blunt kitchen knife, who just lays in a submissive position
Beneath a national weight, and the slow arc of a fist
Her heart beats like a breezeblock, thrown down the stairs
Her blood is thicker than concrete, forced to be brave, she was
Born into a grave
And in the limp through years of bored schooling
She’s accustomed to hearing that she could never run far
A slipped disc in the spine of community
A bloody curse word in a pedestrian verse
Spirits in graveyards and fingers in car parks
She cries on the high street just to be heard.
A screaming anchor for nothing in particular
At the foot of the fuck of it
Dragging her heels in the dirt
Her heart beats like a breezeblock, thrown down the stairs
Her blood is thicker than concrete, forced to be brave, she was
Born into a grave
The cheek of youth flashed red and turned grey
Now she lies on the pavement she is helped to her feet
All thighs, hair and magpie handbags
Saturday’s uniform for the ‘fuck me’ parade
Brought home to keep warm in the arms of a plumber, ruddy and balding
Who just needs a spine to dig in to
A chest for the head and a hand for the holding
Her heart beats like a breezeblock, thrown down the stairs
Her blood is thicker than concrete, forced to be brave, she was
She was
Her heart beats like a breezeblock, 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 is not lost.
All is not lost
All is not lost
All is not lost
All is not lost