Small fish small pond

It’s not london
It’s not even Manchester
There’s an airfield
But nothing ever flies round here
Crabs in a bucket
You won’t ever cut it
How much can you and your friends drink
Before you all drown in liquor and beer?
Not quite the escape you planned
Follow all the rules, stay in school
This old dog has been maimed
By the thick haunting winds
Of this small town
Your reflection trapped in the same gutter puddles
How does it feel to smile without the backdrop of crippling anxiety and struggle?
Depression could learn itself a lesson round here
High hopes from aloof folks
Aunts and Uncles think the desperation is a sick joke
If I shut my eyes forever
All hope is lost
And I’m eternally framed in this cost
Of inaction, dwindling reaction
An unremarkable part of the scenery
But not so beautiful as the greenery