Big Boys Must Cry

David KeenanDavid Keenan 

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David Keenan

David Keenan (born April 1971) is a Scottish author, critic and musician. He is the author of England's Hidden Reverse, a biography of Coil, Current 93 and Nurse with Wound, a regular contributor to The Wire since 1995. He used to run Volcanic Tongue. His novel For the Good Times won the 2019 Gordon Burn Prize. more »

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A madness began to stir in me. It came from the hearth of my gut, my neolithic mind became engulfed by half truths, oh I felt I was inflamed no I could not even breathe. 
Anxiety the parasite it robbed me, left me marooned on an island on a motorway roundabout I slept with the cold a soggy copy of Lolita by my head, plastic bags and indifference for a bed. Gaelic legends came carrying a canvas inspiration, gave birth to a sadness who in petrolled rags and porcelain shawls consumed the carnage on my western front. 
Big Boys Must Cry, all big boys must cry, Big boys must cry, tell your father tell your brother tell your grandad. The pendulums began to swing again. Their queuing up, tell your friends, tell your friends, roll up roll up get a good look. 
I became used to the idea of being well again
Speaking the language of my own soul 
With cupped hands I drank from the pool of reflection if happiness is growth then these must be growing pains, in the silent shade of thought I spoke your name again. I lit a fire with your old thesaurus. I got two buses to learn a verse and a chorus from a sick kid in his mother's kitchen who said the answers exist in plain sight. 
Earn you death by living an outrageous life.
Big Boys Must Cry, all big boys must cry Big boys must cry, tell your father tell your brother tell your grandad. The pendulums began to swing again. Their queuing up, tell your friends, tell your friends.

 Watch: New Singing Lesson Videos Can Make Anyone A Great Singer