When Peter Pullen turned thirteen,
he threw a party in Partington for the whole team,
it was him and me, Jono Steadman, Connor Cartwright, Doug Duggan and Peter’s cousin,
Dean.
We wandered off into the woods behind the park with Dean’s older brother, Mark,
some cherry cola can bongs down by the stream.
I wore these beige Chinos, swore they were just cream jeans.
Their red eyes, chuckling, when suddenly Jono SCREAMED!
Pellet in his leg, a couple more shots whizzed past,
felt fast, probably not, just the shock of the shots,
still, we ducked behind some rocks,
we crawled through the dead leaves and the moss,
up the path, we ran all the way back
and didn’t let up till we got past the bus stop near Joanna’s house.
Bill popped the pellet out with a hot box cutter.
Jono didn’t cry at all, he didn’t even stutter.
Jono was alright, Jono was a good guy,
I think his dad came over from somewhere else or summat some time in 85 or 86, or maybe
he was from Milton Keynes
I can’t really remember…
but his dad was different to ours
and Jono had been deaf till he was four
because he had this weird was build up in his ears.
and he spoke a little slow and I was a prick about it, and I bullied him because…
well, don’t know why but I did and I’ve gotta live with it.
Maybe it was just kids being kids
or maybe just my inner ape baring its teeth.
But… I got picked on too…
I was a prick, sure, but I was just insecure
and who gets to decide what’s being snide
and what’s just giving you what you’re good for?
We were all good in the end though I think.
He never held it against me,
we ended up at the same parties when we hit sixteen,
sharing cheap pills that weren’t that strong,
but lasted long enough to take the edge off life getting too real,to take the edge of life getting just that little bit more wrong.
And then the sharks started circling and the nights get longer.
Jono, I never said SORRY to your face, so I’ll say it in this song.
I was young, but more so I was wrong, and know this.
If my own son had been picking on someone,
well, when he came home from school,
I’d grab that little fucker by his rucksack
and pin him up to the wall,
and scream in his face
until he could never make another person feel shitty at all.
Because they picked on me too,
so I know the pain never really goes away.
It just finds new places to hide inside the darkest nooks and crannies of your brain.
Again and again, it surprises you every time you find it.
That old cycle of abuse.
He did it to me, so I’ll do it to you,
but there’s no margin for error in this world
and so there’s absolutely no excuse.
Though the fibres of our very being are frayed to the point of exhaustion for a bit of harmless
fun.
Jesus Christ, I never meant to hurt anyone.
