Political angst-letting 

This is a second (quicker, augmented) version of an earlier recording that I shared with some like-minded sufferers in the early summer of 2019. 

© 2019 Steven E. Cutts 
a Studio C recording summer/fall 2019

 

I feel worried mostly all the time; 

I’m worn down 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 until 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 its hot coals --   

Praying that things don’t spin out of control.                             

I’m countin’ the days, countin’ the days until 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 against hope there’ll be some miracle 

Or my head may explode.  It’s probably useless, but still 

I keep countin’ the days, countin’ the days until he’s gone. 
 

              It takes a worried man to sing a worried song;            

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

              If you are with me, come on and sing along --                

              A keening, communal, cathartic, cacophonous moan. 

I feel worried mostly all the time . . .