True North or Bust

I'm fine, I’m grand, I’m absolutely great,
Just crying in Aldi’s new self-checkout lane.
I lift big weights, I don’t lift the phone,
Tough as old boots but brittle as bone.

They say "chin up," but my "chin's down,"
Drowning my demons with a lukewarm frown.
I’m a proper bloke, a real man's man,
Ignoring the fire while the house goes bang.

Boys don’t cry, but they probably should,
Boys don’t talk, though it’d do ‘em good.
Boys get lost, but there’s maps and such—
True North or bust! True North or bust!

Sat in the shed with my silent rage,
Building a birdhouse, forgetting my age.
The dog understands but the wife does not,
I mowed the lawn but the sadness stayed put.

DIY therapy, Youtube sage,
Googled “inner peace,” got “carb intake.”
I should get help, but lads don’t do that,
So I’ll just join a gym and never go back.

Boys don’t cry, but they probably should,
Boys don’t talk, though it’d do ‘em good.
Boys get stuck, but there’s ways to adjust—
Follow the stars, True North or bust!"

Pints don’t listen, football won’t care,
A punchline’s fine, but the punchline’s where?
So I rang up TNC, said, “Look, mate, I’m stuck,”
They said, “Cup o’ tea?” and that was enough.

I ain't broken, I ain't weak,
But turns out, mate, I do need sleep.
A bloke alone is a heavy load,
But share the weight, and off you go.

Boys don’t cry? Well, maybe they should.
Boys don’t talk? Then let’s make it good.
Boys drift off, but they’re never alone—
True North will guide you home.