Where did it all go?

Where did it all go?
Days we spent, talking shite and doing nothing much
I recall, a lad called Woody from school, was first of those to go on a crappy little motorbike
John Bellhouse next, he hung around with our gang
Rode a 250 but earned some cash in Kent
He bought a new 500 and died that very day, his head mashed in on some street barrier
But then the close ones started, the boys from my closest circle, why did God single us out so bad cause I didn't think we were really naughty
I lived with Wid in Kent, then I lived with Wid in Leeds, a gentle boy from wetherby who somehow thought he had problems.
He drank a bit too much, but less than I've done many years
Doctors prescribed him diazepam and temazepam we called him the rattling man
He had shallower depressions than myself and I could always drag him out
When he fell against the upstairs window I thought he'd cut himself bad
We'd fire blue tack pellets from an old air gun that bounced from his many layers
I moved down south, he met an older girl with a taste for brown
Next I heard he'd cut his wrists and bled his life away in a bathroom cupboard
He was like a brother, a younger kid I felt I should always be able to pull up.
Animal, a biker turned up in Cornwall where we all lived in a crammed cottage
He liked his ariel huntmaster, he liked drinking beer, and he loved his girlfriend
He was an older brother, carried my new girlfriend out the pub to tell her to treat me good
He went away to study some advanced engineering and came back to find his best mate and his bird together taken over his home
So we walked the streets getting drunk, he wanted to get a gun, but I talked him out of that, and we crashed out at Brian's
On a group excursion to France, he took a bike out for a spin, forgot the roadside rules and went headfirst in to death
His biker funeral was impressive, I set next to Brian on the coach down
Brian became a scrap man with a closet speed addiction
His bird met another so he waited for him with a hammer, CS gas and a knife, stabbed him over 50 times
Richard met him in jail, he asked if his ex had been in touch, he said he'd do her too
Twelve years later on his first week out he was run down dead by a London bus
There were several others overdosed, Win being one of the first, an older friendly hippy.
Rufus who I'd known since scouts and primary school one of the last.
Turps could never drink, it turned him in a cunt
Then I heard he'd been deported from Holland and was living homeless on the streets of leeds
I'd known him since I was 14, lived with him at 15 when I left home
He died from an overdose in St George's crypt homeless hostel
There's so many I forget, but Martin was one of my closest freinds since 9
He never liked leeds but we travelled and had some laughs
He landed a new job, to celebrate he took a hit round Richards house and never came awake again
Richard was my closest freind, he could be knobhead
And he fell in love with a girl who didn't care who bled him dry till he drank and shot so much gear in to his groin he toppled down dead. Such a bright star in his youth.
They all were.
Ten of my closest circle, all dead by fourty, some by thirty, some by twenty.
What did we do to deserve that?
I still think of you. My best freinds are mostly dead.


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