I’ve got problems,
so I write them in a book for me to read.
They’re all mine so no one else will get to see
my thoughts, my schemes and hopes and dreams.
Put ‘em away, just for a rainy day.
I don’t talk much,
never found much reasoning to speak.
Weather chats and pets are for the weak,
and drained, and socially restrained…
I don’t really care about your stupid cat.
I don’t get out much,
never been to fond of company.
Better with the T.V. and just me.
One mouth to feed instead of three,
or four, with them it’s just a chore.
It’s simply great when there’s always plenty more.
I fell in love once,
she kicked me to the curb one summer night.
It scared me half to death, but I’m alright.
She was crazy as a bug that doesn’t bite,
or pinch, or crawl over your skin.
I think about it, ‘till my stomach starts to spin.
Sure I get lonely,
and wish for someone else to call my own.
It’s harder than it looks to be alone,
and down, and out, and cold…
How I wish that you and I could just grow old.
Wallowing while my friends are at this show.