Story

A keening, communal, cathartic, cacophonous moan

 

(I’m proud of that line!)

 

© 2019, Steven E. Cutts

 Studio C recording, June 2019

Lyrics

I feel worried mostly all the time;

I’m worn out by the drama, the continuous lyin’.

He grabbed all that was good, and he spun it around --

Turned us inside out and upside down.

I’m countin’ the days, countin’ the days ‘til he’s gone.

 

I keep holding my breath, fearing the worst.

We used to be blessed, now we’re majorly cursed.                               

I’m tip-toein’ on egg shells – or maybe hot coals --       

Praying that things don’t spin out of control.                            

I’m countin’ the days, countin’ the days ‘til he’s gone.

 

At first I believed it was a bad, bad dream

And that soon he would just disappear,

But I was deceived – pretty badly it seems --

‘Cause he’s lasted for weeks and for months and for years.

 

Like an innocent man in a prison cell

I keep scratchin’ off days from my sentence in Hell.

I keep hoping ‘gainst hope there’ll be some miracle

Or my head may explode.  Maybe its hopeless, but still

I’m countin’ the days, countin’ the days ‘til he’s gone.

 

            It takes a worried man to sing a worried song;            

            But I doubt that I’m suff’ring alone.            

            If you feel like me, come on and sing along --               

            A keening, communal, cathartic, cacophonous moan.

 

I feel worried mostly all the time . . .