A house, a home, a family, of this you say you dream..
even aloft, once long ago,
since a young lass upon 13…
Oh marry ways, the fruitful days,
of which the masses would lay claim…
The wonderful type, of the family life,
alas,
exclusively,
betrothed in fame…
So I struggle hard,
and I worry harder,
In life’s en vogue, mais toujours scénarisé,
We sign the charter, I play the martyr,
Leading the charge while you talk down to me…
Be a man, be tough, be proud,
They whisper, nay, proclaim aloud!
While you’re coddled ripe, and spoiled rotten,
I’m covered in blight, spoiled, and rotten..
My cries, they carry,
my echos forgotten,
A whisper one would say…
But if I’m closing my eyes, and and you got your way,
Guess I’m the one who died that day…