Friday, February 12, 2010

Even Papa Smurf Has His Bad Days

fuck the damn blues
just 3 apples high in those white Phrygian caps
the skipping smurfberry-eating bastards can all go to hell
there’s nothing smurftastic about today
my beard is as cursed as this desolate land
give me a pipe and a girl and a jug of wine
call me unhappy and bitter if you like
call me anything
there is nothing easy about these going ons
these petty problems that don’t add up to a single mushroom-shaped house of a care
it’s all gabbing and gassing and so-long-get-the-hell-out-of-my-face
away is where I’m dying to go
lose these red rags and this so-called altruism
nobody gives advice to the seer
all my magic charms and alchemy can’t fix what’s wrong with my head
all 542 years of me
and only all this nothing to show for it
I’m just getting meaner
as my temper gets shorter
there’s only so much petulant griping I can take
I can’t do this shit forever
sometimes these fuckers
need to learn how to take care of their own troubles
I’ve got enough of my own
I am not God
for fuck’s sake
whispers flank the door of my hut
they are all speaking about me
infantile sons of bitches
and this after I turned that hideous Smurfette into a blond-haired beauty for them
I am tired
I am old
I just want to be left alone
barricade the door
burn all the sarsaparilla leaves
and kill off what remains of the day
diplomacy and kindness will not fill the holes in my heart
let Gargamel and Azrael have their pick of the litter
I cannot do less than too much or more than enough
emptiness is all there is