Life is morose and life is dead,
Worries screaming in your head.
With lost hopes and all things worse.
From dawn to dusk,
Living and eating norms.
One smile, you wait, you die,
For a touch you’d fight and cry.
The sweet company that you crave,
Until freedom flies you to your nest.
Awkward first meetings around family and friends,
A stranger sits, trying to peep through your veil.
Cakes and cookies you never knew to make,
You put forward for your clients to take.
Furniture and cars accompany you to the grave,
In the baleful sound of trumpets you slowly break.
Thrill, you want when you step in the door,
Taking a hand and flowers on the floor.
Thrill is what you want all that first night,
Your stranger, for you, might not be right.
By the time morning leaves its shadowy cave,
You’re well into the unhappily married club.
There you wish that you were free,
Because there are sickles to your feet.
Or the thrill is when,
Zooming through posh streets late at night,
In the back seat of a little perky bike…
The air cool from late spring showers,
You throw your hands up in the air,
And leave the past with all its woes,