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By coujeaux Date: 2002 Oct 04 Comment on this Work [[2002.10.04.07.39.4086]] |
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Her latest awakening was expressed in redecoration; pride and memories littered the room, Gone from swept off her feet to bristling at the brushoff from an all-too-familiar broom. When tears were dried and wine bottle was empty came another call to clean up that mess, Listening to stories of her broken heart and all other indiscretions she wanted to confess. The next time would be different; she swore up and down how her Mama didn't raise no fool, I found myself restraining laughter at how often breaking vows had become her guiding rule. Men come in two varieties of mounts; either we're cavalry or stallions bringing up her rear, Able to go from atop that white steed to a manure-hauling stableboy at first drop of a tear. We get saddled with guilt when bareback riders becomes nags whose excuses wind up lame, And they wonder why we gallop towards the sunset at very mention of another man's name. It's a horse of another color when you try corraling reasons she returns to that same well, You can't quench her thirst for shooters looking to join her posse with an exploding shell. Now Prince Charming's supposed to be a nice guy, but we've all heard how they finish last, Makes me wonder how he rescued those fair maidens if his dragon-slaying was half-assed. Then it occurs to me he forgot to call her after he unsheathed his sword to have some fun, Nothing left but crumpled piles of armor and smoldering scales when her medieval was done. Now the knight life ain't no good life; her silent savior stands watching her lose yet again, But it shows him how poor the odds are that she'll ever realize he's a man she could win. |