I'm scarred, I'm scarred, I'm scarred/
I'm scarred, uh huh/
I'm scarred, I'm scarred, I'm scarred/
Every day of my life/
I just manage to survive/
I just wanna stay alive
I knew I was destined for London, so I came to live with my nan in her council flat. It was the summer after my A-levels. Got a job in Willesden cemetery. I was getting a man’s wage, filling in bumholes. Stood around while they did the last rites. Cut the grass. A lot of the time I’d just sit on the gravestones and read and write. Scribbling away.
Not to want to say, not to know what you want to say, not to be able to say what you think you want to say, and never to stop saying, or hardly ever, that is the thing to keep in mind, even in the heat of composition.