There is a list of things to do in here,
And it’s time for me to play the grown up.
I am so not yet a grownup, I fear,
Don’t have the independence thing sewn up.
Not one of my daydreams has dirty dishes,
Or a ten-foot pile of clean clothes to hang.
So much for gay Cinderella wishes,
Of a handsome Prince who just wants to bang.
I fear that we are stuck with reality,
And all the crap and piss and stink of it.
The bills and daily beastiality,
Aging and ill until a grave we fit.
We moan about the price it costs to live,
Until we consider the alternative.