crooked finger's haunting rant of the miserable wife

Golden words penned long ago
when I was young and zesty
occupied with lofty things
perhaps a lot less testy.

That which clouds my vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions
dark deceptions
left me underjoyed.

Of boyfriends unattainable
rejection would then smite
the hope of finding love,
which left me
just a bit uptight.

in the stretch to earn a living
well my boss is kind of rough
In trying to say something nice I'm on ice
cuz she's hard-headed, driving, and tough.

The high cost of living and then there's the tax
puts a strain on my old bank account
but that backbiting backriding queen battleaxe
can jump from the ground to the mount.

and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster on the wheel
the same old thing is feeling old
and I’m looking cold as steel.

but still I ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
I'll settle for less than the one.

seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I read self help books while you eats what I cooks
and I’m lost in the Harper's Bazaar.

My cellulite was ill replete
and disappointments grew
and long before the smog moved in
it choked the thrill from you.

and out of this stress comes the need to digress
so we sleep and we play and we drink
and we drain our desires and screw up our wires
and leave our sex life on the brink.

Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pretense of knowledge and so many things
to the Thanksgiving holiday feast.

And now we're blown out, you lie and I shout
there's a palpable distance that's haunted
I long for the day when you'd hold me and say
that I'm just the one you always wanted.

But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweatpool of stink
and hoping to find something good on the street
in the morning you feel like a fink.

Left to your own devices
sleeping soundly, your heart's one desire
for passion it waits, while the office debates
and will do so until you expire.

Displacing my anger I'm less satisfied
and will never see straight, as you'll see
my own crooked finger was put through the wringer
and now it points straight back at me.


I'm not always this happy. 'Crooked finger' is just another fantasy of mine which helps me cope with singleness. I try to imagine the grass being all burnt out on the other side of the fence and find it elating. Not really as I have enjoyed some good things in my previous married life. Funny I was googling crooked finger and found Eric Bachmann I think his name is. Anyway, it's just a mood. If you like dark, drunken, folky music, I highly recommend checking out Crooked Fingers. http://www.crookedfingers.com/flash/index.htm
THis song by Crooked Finger actually reminds me of Dylan's 'Spanish boots of Spanish Leather'.