(a small fairy tale)
Long long time ago,
I can still remember
how that loser used to make me smile…
And I knew that if I had my chance
I could make that idiot dance
And maybe I’d be happy for a while…
But the thought alone made me shiver
With every step he would deliver
Dancing like a drunken rhino
Wobbly steps, pathetic whino.
I can’t remember if I cried
When I heard about his latest ride
But he no longer touched me deep inside
The day my illusions died…
So bye-bye, mister Don’t-ask-me-why.
’cause my payload got to heavy,
and then you made me cry
Now this good old gal is thinkin’ “I’ll make you fly”
Singin’, “this won’t be the day that I die…
no no, this’ll be the day that YOU die.”
Did you have a notion of love,
or do you prefer the boxing glove?
If your schizo mind tells you so?
Do you believe in the facebook troll,
Can viagra save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to kill real slow?
Well, I know that you’re incapable
of nailing me on the snooker table.
You kicked off both your shoes.
Man, the stench gave me the blues.
I was a lonely redhead with no luck
Believin’ love on ration was a true lame duck
But I know now that you do really suck
The day delusions died.
I started singin’,
“damn, damn, no not THAT all again”
Don’t you walk out and oh, don’t shout,
you’ll leave when I tell you when.
This good old Lou will first tell you all why
And you’ll see this’ll be the day that you die.
This will be the day that you fry.
The next ten years you’ll be on your own
And you’ll grow fat, cooking all alone,
But that’s how not it works, you see…
When you tried to tame this dramaqueen,
In a straitjacket made so neat and lean
With a scream I tore myself free…
We both were singing,
“bye-bye, tasty american pie.”
Shove that jelly up your belly,
But my shite stayed too dry.
Them good old days were over, don’t ask me why
Singin’, “this’ll be the day that you’ll fly.
this’ll be the day you’ll shit pie.”
Oh, and as I watched him in his rage
His hands attempting to break my rib cage
No moron born in hell
Could break my satanic spell.
And as the flames climbed high his sight
To light that sacrificial rite,
I saw satan laughing with delight
The day the that loser lied
As he was singing,
“bye-bye, miss hormonical fly.”
Drove my willie up your hillie,
But the hillie was dry.
Them good old toys were stinkin’ miserable, aye
Me singin’, “this’ll be the day I’ll get high.
this’ll be the day I’ll get high.”
I met a boy who sang he couldn’t lose
So I asked him for some nice new shoes,
But he just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the wicked whore
Where I’d heard the music years before,
But the man there said the jukebox wouldn’t play.
And in the streets the women screamed,
The spinsters cried and the whinos dreamed.
But not a word was broken;
The promises still unspoken.
And the three men I admire most:
My father, son, and my website host,
They all gonna have some jam on toast
The day my traumas died.
And they were singing,
“bye-bye, you’ll be lonely and I’ll
get my hopes up at the truck stop”,
but then in the meanwhile
Those good old cows were stuffin’ water and rye
Mooin’, “when will be the day I’ll eat pie.
when will be the day I’ll eat pie…”
With very special thanks to Don McLean
for his initial sketchwork on this song.
My gratitude to you.
Yours sincerely, Hormonoloulou.