Saturday, 14 February 2015

You won't see me with a bunch of roses, promising fidelity



Today is "St Hallmark's Day": the only day in the year when grown men are seen buying anything in pink, covered with hearts and teddy-bears, and the shit poetry and laquer-sprayed-flower industries rub their hands with glee.

In my usual cynical manner, here's a contribution - courtesy of the Pet Shop Boys:



I've been taking my time for a long time
Putting my feet up a lot
Speaking English as a foreign language
any words that I haven't forgot
I've been thinking how I can't be bothered
to wash the dishes or remake the bed
What's the point when I could doss instead?

I've been hanging out with various riff-raff
somewhere on the Goldhawk Road
I don't think it's gonna be much longer
'til I'm mugging up on the penal code
Love is a bourgeois construct
so I've given up on the bourgeoisie
Like all their aspirations, it's a fantasy

When you walked out you did me a favour
you made me see reality
that love is a bourgeois construct
It's a blatant fallacy
You won't see me with a bunch of roses
promising fidelity
Love doesn't mean a thing to me

Talking tough and feeling bitter
but better now it's clear to me
that love is a bourgeois construct
so I've given up the bourgeoisie

While the bankers all get their bonuses
I'll just get along with what I've got
Watching the weeds in the garden
Putting my feet up a lot
I'll explore the outer limits of boredom
moaning periodically
Just a full-time, lonely layabout
that's me

When you walked out you did me a favour
It's absolutely clear to me
that love is a bourgeois construct
just like they said at university
I'll be taking my time for a long time
with all the Schadenfreude it's cost
calculating what you've lost

Now I'm digging through my student paperbacks
Flicking through Karl Marx again
Searching for the soul of England
Drinking tea like Tony Benn
Love is just a bourgeois construct
so I'm giving up the bourgeoisie
until you come back to me

Talking tough and feeling bitter
but better now it's clear to me
that love is a bourgeois construct
so I've given up the bourgeoisie


Indeed.

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