“What the fuck?”
(Occasionally I run into a problem)
Like a flower that starts to wilt
with tender loving care,
I’ve cut the ropes to that lifeline.
Chicken soup on the stove smells
good enough to eat, but the spices haven’t melded completely.
“What the hell am I doing cooking anyway?”
Bright lights make me nervous, I want to break them one by one.
You look wicked in those lights, not flattering at all.
Can we meet for coffee, as long as the place is far away?
It’s the grey area of your brain that interests me.
It's astonishing when ridiculous things come out of your mouth.
I have to remind myself to say:
“What a goddamn genius!”
Better give me a call tomorrow,
I’ll be available.