Gwyneth, I think of you but, admittedly, not often
And over time my ardour has softened
And with memories edited carefully
I’ll make a laugh riot from our non-event of the century.
Cut free from the vine, afternooning in my bedroom
I was an idiot, yes, but an idiot for you;
My fingers twirling your curling rusty hair, I was smitten
For you I’d paint my bollocks blue and hop nude to Thames Ditton.
But beyond exploratory kisses and tentative caresses
We never divested ourselves of trousers and dresses
Drinking in your red acne, black eyeliner, chapped lips
Hungry for what lay midpoint ’neath your hips.
I was hampered by a weird fear, cripplingly shy
And tongue-tied as you rhapsodised about some other guy
Dying inside, your joy for that boy had me furious
And yet I did nothing, said less, and of me you were incurious.
Fast forward a few Whitsuns and up the aisle you trudged
Hitching to a slug who turned your dream palace into sludge
You deserved better than a life of monotony
You were a sweetheart, Gwyn, even though it didn’t beat for me.
But why am I pinning the blame on him and letting you scot free?
We never were an item - ’cept in my dreams - so he never stole you from me
No black-tashed villain, he was just your average normal bloke
Perhaps fat cocks and throbbing wallets were enough to make you soak.
Or maybe it was cosmic boredom or existential crisis
That Hyde and Jekyll’d you from vodka bingeing to yoga and dance classes
Whiteflagging to white rum, red wine and blue moods
Swinging with a sucker around your mortgaged mortuary living room.
No, Gwyn, I’m not face down scoffing from a nosebag of regret
I’ve smoked down and stubbed out carnal desire’s cigarette
And if we met again would I feel any pain
If you crinkled your brow and asked me my name?
And in your diary discover that I was at most a margin jotting
A footnote, a sideline, a doodle, a poodle, a smudged ink blotting?
Did you find the best way to survive was by getting numb and dumber
In your purse is there a card with the Tattoo Removal Service’s number?
credits
from Tattoo Removal Service,
released June 18, 2021
Composed, performed and produced by Doug Murphy & Paul Hamilton
This is a low-level slow-burning marvel of almost nonchalant brilliance. Often, one finds beneath all the FX and gloss there's no song at all. Aaron Freeman has an ocean of depth beneath the surface. smokingantrecords
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