Shaving

I’ve been dragging razor blades over my face for about ten years straight
From the week I turned thirteen
Well, yesterday I turned twenty-three
Dad used to joke that he could shave with a knife
I’ve never seen a cut on his face in all of my life
I hope my skin thickens into the kind of man I want to be
You’re numb?
Yeah, sure, I’ve been numb
It’s when you have so many choices, you end up choosing none
And you’re bored, I think I know the sort
As long as you don’t end up there as your first resort
One time a drunk news presenter from RTE
Took the time out of her busy night to explain to me
That boredom is a pretty recent term and forty years ago
No one used the word
And there is so much more than this
Some people survive by the skin of their wrist
And I had to let you know. (Oh-Woah, Woah)
I saw what was basically a child propped up on stage
He proceeded to say nothing in the loudest way
I lock my jaw so tight
Point my eyes at the ground
In a futile effort to repel the sound
As my mind starts to wander away, i
T calls back just to ask me was I ever this way?
The chords seem so familiar, although his speech is slurred
I notice we’ve the same shaving lines as he utters the words:
There is so much more than this
Some people survive by the skin of their wrist
And I had to let you know (Oh-Woah, Woah)
There is so much more than this
Some people survive by the skin of their wrist
And I had to let you know (Oh-Woah, Woah)
Things won’t be the same again
At six a.m., eight years ago
I was lying in the middle of the Old Bawn Road
Singing «I don’t care if any cars come, I won’t rise before the sun.»
At six a.m., eight years ago
I was lying in the middle of the Old Bawn Road
Singing «I don’t care if any cars come, I won’t rise before the sun.»