Under the weather.
As light as a feather.
The soup I find so creamy.
It started the day
I met her in May.
What could I say
Apart from she was dreamy?
The chopping board was always there
But now I could smell her heavenly hair.
Nothing like her could make me stare,
She was my one euphoria.
My nerves would go stronger
Every day I grew older,
She simply became my friend.
How could I have known
That I had missed my chance
When I started to walk round that bend?
I saw the man,
The man with the plan.
The one that had kissed my love.
They both smelled of soup,
The food that I loved, each day, each hour
Now I am the preacher of reality.
I tell the world to open their eyes,
To expect no surprise
Other than hurt and hate.
Look at me now, as bitter as the owl
That twoots every day and night.
I no longer cook,
I burned all those books.
I no longer live in life's sight.