Stevie

Stevie was a face you'd always see in our crowd.
Not one of the ringleaders, but always quite loud.
He smoked and drank as though essential to a cause.
And when he left school he swore he'd not stay on these shores.
"It's army life fer me," He said.
And who were we to doubt?
But the lad was just that bit too odd,
And we knew he'd get chucked out.

And he never even made it through his first tour.
"There's no place for marijuana when you're fighting in a war."
But it suited his agenda once back in Civvy Street.
An idle easy companion while his idol was elite.
"Screw 'em and the system," He said,
And we nodded right along.
But there was madness in the lad's eyes,
We all knew something would go wrong.

He got so deep into acid, Tim Leary would be shocked.
Even in our local, he'd sometimes go off half-cocked.
And when he stole his Grandad's medals for a fix,
We knew we could all be victims of his dirty tricks.
"He's senile, he won't miss 'em," He said.
But we just stared in disgust.
He laughed and headed for the Frontline,
Where he walked into a bust.

His time in prison was marked by continued heroin abuse,
It got him through each day, or at least that was his excuse.
He shut himself away from the horror of life inside,
Until the day he overdosed, the day he nearly died.
"I'm already dead inside," He said,
Deep-set hollow eyes spoke truth,
This skeletal former Boy Scout,
This great runner, in his youth.

And he never really made it back into reality.
There barely was a vein that remained needle-free.
We all grew and many began normal mundane lives,
Occasionally we'd meet up and we'd hit the city dives.
"A toast to those we lost," We'd joke,
For those drifted on and moved away.
And we'd spare a thought for Stevie,
Stuck inside his head each day.

We sometimes see his brother, who blames his state on drugs.
But from what we know as adults Stevie's youth was short on hugs.
And since the most of us indulged, and now seem to be fine,
I guess it's down to how you're wired, and how you live your time.
"The drugs don't work," He sang,
As he searched out the last vein.
Injecting a note of happiness
Into the melancholy refrain.