A month of disappointments,
and 12 years of despair,
you, a dirty whoring mistress,
me, your customer in that chair.
I'm looking above the muddy windows,
and grasping for reed,
fresh scents as the wind blows,
there must be some place for my breed?
I want to turn back and spit in your face,
and say things so vile,
its a marathon not a race,
and relationships i wont defile.
I will turn my back and walk off,
into that setting sun,
too long have I been your cash cow,
Fuck you, so long, and its been fun