You can never be a writer,
Bolt those dreams inside your head.
Put a flame to aspiration,
Be a welder, son, instead.
Kids from round here can’t be writers,
It just isn’t what we know.
Best forge a brighter future,
By making metals glow.
No, you’ll never be a writer,
That isn’t how we’re made,
Remember where you come from,
Go get a proper trade…
I know welding is a noble craft,
Holding families together,
With bonds that stand the test of time,
No matter what the weather.
But I want to be a writer,
Welding words, not steel,
Let me fuse them into sentences,
That tell you how I feel.
Boil them down to liquid,
Then mould them into shape,
And build a bridge that’s strong enough,
To hold while I escape.
******************************
Teesside suffered from a lack of aspiration. My dad was a steelworker and he told me to be a welder because I’d always be in work, and kids from South Bank couldn’t get jobs as writers. Steel was all he knew. It was safe – except it turned out that it wasn’t. It’s all gone now.