Saturday, 12 April 2008

Rant of the Unhappy Housewife -Revisited

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

That which clouds our vision
tragic losses which destroyed
sweet perceptions,
dark deceptions
left you under-joyed.

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

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

The high cost of living, and then there's the tax
puts a strain on the old bank account
but that backbiting back-riding queen battle-axe
can jump from the ground to the mount.

and every day's the same old thing
like a hamster that's caught on the wheel
the same old thing is feeling old
and you're feeling cold as steel.

But still you ignore the passing of time
and balance hard work with clean fun
and believing that this is as good as it gets
you settle for less than The One.

Seeking distraction from everything dull
and attracted to that which you are
I skim self help books
while you eats what I cooks
and you're 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 came 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 blink.

Simple amusements, the clutter of things
common to man and his beast
from the pursuits of knowledge and all that is brings
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 our life is just what you wanted.

But now mediocre, you opt to play poker
and run with a sweat pool 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.

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

'Crooked finger' is a miserable fantasy of mine which helped me cope with singleness one day. I try to imagine the grass being all burnt out on the other side of the fence and find it elating. Not really. 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 PMS mood.

If you like dark, drunken, folky music, I highly recommend checking out Crooked Fingers.
THis song by Crooked Finger actually reminds me of Dylan's 'Spanish boots of Spanish Leather'.

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