Monday, 12 April 2010

Crooked Finger's Rant (of the Miserable Housewife) G Clair

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 under-joyed;

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 'cause 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 back-biting back-riding queen battle axe, 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 getting old and I’m feeling cold as steel.

Still we ignore the passing of time and balance hard work with clean fun,
and believing that this is as good as it gets, we settle for less than the one

seeking distraction from everything dull and attracted to that which you are,
I read self help books whiles you eats what I cooks and we're lost in the Harper's Bazaare

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 I was always the one that 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.

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