The fat lady’s bin singin’ for a month or two,
mind racin’, hands wringin’, I don’t know how to do.
A trouble shared, call my crew, knew they’d understand.
Gotta plan, gotta number, organize a backdoor man.
But I was stuck in traffic, while he was stickin’ her.
Payin’ for her pleasure, there’s no justice in this world.
One minute you’re rollin’ in four leaf clover.
How do I break it soft an’ tell her:
Fallin’ sky, the end is nigh, but never near enough.
a never ending story, slow death by a thousand cuts.
My two cents, your two-penneth, splittin’ hairs over the price.
Nothin’s more freely given, than opinion and advice.
I’m sad deep inside, but I’m havin’ a good time!
On the outside, where you see me, I’m all smiles.
©11.7.2019 Andrew Robert Chapman