The Ox / The Afters

For Those I Love

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🇬🇧 English · Original

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I met him for the first time in an age out on the train His mid day cans at his feet were hidden from display And he says, “Dave, mate, tell us, what has ya out this way Are you still boxing in the same old place or have ya moved out from The Grange?” He said he moved about and shadow boxed in his box room every day But he was getting on in age, now 52 didn’t feel the same He had an Alex Higgins sway, on a Battling Nelson frame And he was only just The Ox in name. The Ox, the big man from down the block He boxed, and wared, and drank, and roared But was built from golden stock He’d break his voice to nothin when he spoke about the docks But he’d smile and say he’s on his way for peace The Ox, the big man from down the block It broke his heart to see the faces on the road when he was caught He fought his friends and we’d shake his hands, then we’d hit the same old spots And he’d smile and say the pain was his release. I’d drive him home at night, from time to time from days of sweat I was wet behind the ears, but he put me wide to life and death “Davey don’t ya know the more ya grow the more you’ll learn what’s worth regret And there’s no better place to end your race than when you settle all your debts,” He walked the roads at night alongside his uncle Chrissy He always said he had no time to be busy, lost in history All he ever loved was good friends and Thin Lizzy The year he tried to shed the extra pounds, he took the hound And ran himself to the ground, with The Boys are Back In Town on a speaker round his neck blaring loud Like some stocky Dublin rocky, shadow boxed the air as he went Deadset on health, all the way til the day his Daddy fell And he was back on the drink like the hounds of hell He yelled and lined up pints of ten, and he drank more and more and roared “the boys are truly back in town again.” And he’d say “Dave, I pray things for me will change Me legs they won’t keep giving out And the drink won’t rule my ways” He’d smile, and wink, and sway. He buried stout and cider Made his name as a local fighter And he’d shout about the beatings that he took from priests They kicked him from the Inn, he’d go out and try his luck again He tried to drown himself to find some inner peace. He taught me early, “Dave ya have to speak sincerely,” Nearly no one had a bad word to his name He said, “the drink should fear me” But it left him weak and weary Clearly never found the friend, that he became. When he spoke the scar upon his cheek would ripple with each word It was savaged out in ‘99 from a fistfight at his door He used to whisper to the lot of us that he always wanted more But good stout, and friends about the ends was all we could afford. But still he seemed happy, or at least he told you that he was Down the town, another round, and then he’d coach ya through your wars Walk the dogs, and say hello, and he’d drink and drink some more And he broke our hearts the day they finally found him on the floor. They gave him a pardon He was survived by his garden I think his spirit continues to box His name was John Martin He turned all his cards in But everyone called him The Ox. Daylight Safe flight He was the one from her dreams He chose an eight pint goodbye and then a cry in the field. Playwright passions, he put the world on a page He said who needed to finish, when he had the world as his stage He never sat inside a plane When she left he chose to stay He wrote he cards that he never he’d never send He said it shouldn’t bother me I called it “daylight bloody robbery” Honestly He played pretend all the way until the end."