33

Lyrics

You probably pictured it differently Than rusty VWs all your life At one point almost married a butcher So solid, so grounded, a craftsman, you thought Now solving crosswords in bed Leave the light on, there's no one that minds 'O8, you stopped wearing make-up You're sick just thinking about Bangladesh Your green Batik dress doesn't fit you no more That's a shame 'cause Batik's coming back Now faint-hearted dance moves in the bathroom You and the mirror, the two of you One year you dated a professor On the third date he told you he liked peeing games You always wanted to paint or to emigrate But the hustle and the errands just fucked it all up Grandma's still sending you money For one decent dinner, no plus one Petrarca wrote 300 sonnets All for a woman that didn't exist On the way home you cried in the taxi Love is an awful enemy, my dear This year you are 33 But when you cry, you still look 16