Born in a postcode they’d rather ignore
Where futures rot in the charity store
Got dreams in my gut, rage in my throat
But they gave me a paper hat and minimum hope

You call it life—I call it slow decay
You sell the dream, then take it away

I won’t sit down—I ain’t your pawn
I won’t be quiet while the tower block mourns
You feed me lies with a smile and a suit
Then blame me when I don’t bear fruit

Dad’s got a limp from factory dust
Mum’s still payin' off the broken trust
I'm stuck in a rent-box tomb with mould on the wall
And every job app’s just a dead-end crawl

"Be grateful," they say—while they hoard the lot
I’ve got a busted back and a boiling pot
You gave us screens, not dreams
Noise, not meaning
You made us ghosts in our own bloody streets

I won’t sit down—I ain’t your pawn
I won’t be quiet while the tower block mourns
We’re the noise in your stats, the crack in your gloss
We’re the bill you dodged—we’re the human cost

Rent-Box Tomb

Mum says smile—"things could be worse"
But she don't know that I already rehearsed
uh, uh, uh yeah!

Woke up with concrete in my chest
Bus shelter wisdom, soaking wet
Another Monday mouthful of regret
Clock-in, clock-out, nothing left

Mum says smile—"things could be worse"
But she don't know that I already fucking rehearsed!
Wow, yeah

But I feel it, I feel it—deep in my spine
Like the howl of a kettle when it's past its time
Yeah, I feel it, I feel it—can't lie anymore
My voice is a hammer on a council estate floor

Council brick dreams, chipped and bruised
Newsagent prophets, cigarette truths
Mum says smile—"things could be worse"
But she don't know that I already rehearsed

But I feel it, I feel it—deep in my spine
Like the howl of a kettle when it's past its time
Yeah, I feel it, I feel it—can't lie anymore
My voice is a hammer on a council estate floor

Mum says smile

Radiator cold and the telly's too loud
Neighbours fightin’ like thunder in a cloud
Scrape coins for leccy, chase weeks in a spin
Another form, another knock—no way to win

The streets don’t listen, the skyline’s blind
They built these towers just to cage our minds

And I scream in the silence, no one calls back
I'm the grey in between all the white and the black
I walk through the world like I’m made of glass
But no one sees cracks when you're stuck in the past

Bus stop ghost, face lit by phone
Scrollin’ through lives he’ll never own
Anxiety’s rhythm—tick tick tick—
Like a clock with no hands, makin' no-one tick

They tell us to rise, but the ladder’s a trick
Each rung's a bill, each step’s another brick
You don’t climb out—you cave in deeper
Smilin’ for the screen, cryin’ for the meter

And I scream in the silence, no one calls back
I'm the grey in between all the white and the black
I walk through the world like I’m made of glass
But no one sees cracks when you're stuck in the past

Grey Between the Cracks

Born in a postcode they’d rather ignore
Where futures rot in the charity store
Got dreams in my gut, rage in my throat
But they gave me a paper hat and minimum hope

You call it life—I call it slow decay
You sell the dream, then take it away

I won’t sit down—I ain’t your pawn
I won’t be quiet while the tower block mourns
You feed me lies with a smile and a suit
Then blame me when I don’t bear fruit

Dad’s got a limp from factory dust
Mum’s still payin' off the broken trust
I'm stuck in a rent-box tomb with mould on the wall
And every job app’s just a dead-end crawl

"Be grateful," they say—while they hoard the lot
I’ve got a busted back and a boiling pot
You gave us screens, not dreams
Noise, not meaning
You made us ghosts in our own bloody streets

I won’t sit down—I ain’t your pawn
I won’t be quiet while the tower block mourns
We’re the noise in your stats, the crack in your gloss
We’re the bill you dodged—we’re the human cost

You took the lot and you left the crumbs
Then told us to run with broken lungs
You gave us credit cards and poisoned pride
Said “man up” while the dream just died

You gave us zero hours and call-in shifts
Told us to smile while you closed our lifts
You priced us out, you locked the gates
Then painted “Hope” on council plates

We don't owe you nothing.
We don’t bleed for profit.
We break the silence now.
We take it back somehow.

We were never lost.
You just stopped looking.

Rent-Box Tomb (reprise)

Monday was a funeral.
No black suits, no hymns — just the flicker of strip lights and the smell of microwaved grief.
The bus was late again.
Not that I had anywhere worth being.

I watched a pigeon die outside Poundland.
Two kids laughed, filmed it for likes.
That’s the world now — tragedy in 720p.
Swipe, smirk, move on.

My flat’s got damp in the shape of Europe.
Mould’s winning the referendum.
Boiler screams at night like it's got a soul.
Sometimes I scream back. Just for balance.

They told us hard work pays off.
What they meant was:
You pay.
Off your back, off your dreams, off your dignity.
And if you’re lucky, they’ll give you a badge for “resilience.”
I want a refund, not a f***ing slogan.

They say things get better.
But better’s always next week, next job, next life.
I’ve learned to stop waiting.
Now I just walk.
Head down.
Jaw clenched.
Burning slow.

Monday Was a Funeral

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