Tuesday, 3 July 2012
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By old folk in tweed hats and coats,
Who half the time were smiling out
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It festers high upon the shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself
Because you just might miss your mum
And dad, when babies diss the books
Colic cries and lullabies
They'll be there to magic up a fluke
They'll still loathe one another, hard
More so almost every day
But love you more than they feel hate
Victorious in either way
It's difficult for pride to show
And sincerity comes even less
When their parents tut and shooed them off
No interest in their interests
They fuck you up, your mum and dad
They may not mean to, but they do
They're not quite living by the book
Just wanting all the best for you.