Hidden like the squalor that we create. Martin wants out of this. but poverty keeps him in this place. Scratching like the vermin between the walls. Martin needs a friend but the people the he meets.
Bless that summer of eighty-eight. On a bench outside the Ox & Gate. With a sponge, spanner and rusty nail. And a nice sharp piece of string. Didn't make sense then don't make sense now.