Walking Wounded Blues
When your mother kicked you out of doors
Your dad was a goddamned stranger
The streets were filled with syphlitic whores
Offering sleaze and danger.
Your brother was out to destroy you
The beer had no taste or foam.
The calico cat would annoy you
You slept in a funeral home.
Your dog took a dump in your shoes;
You've had the talking, squalking, walking wounded blues.
When nothing you saw on the boulevards
Was other than fifth class crap
You never could get a pair in the cards
Your lovers gave you the clap
Work was a salaried chore
Schools a convict's game
They drafted you for a war
In a place with a funny name
Your generals wanted to lose;
You've had the talking, squalking, walking wounded blues.
You'd wanted to be an adult;
They told you to take a seat.
Your pals were joining a cult
Where even the angels cheat.
You honored and trusted your wife.
You'd thought your kids were your kin.
You offered them both your life.
You were fixed and the fix was in.
A hanging is always news;
You've had the talking, squalking, walking wounded blues.
Luckily coin, maybe much too much
Is all they wanted from you.
You've got a smooth financial touch;
Making money is all you can do.
They tell you what's yours is mine.
Sometimes it's funny or silly.
You drink labeled fancy French wine;
It's really cheap swill from Chile.
They call it whatever they choose.
You've had the talking, squalking, walking wounded blues.
Matthew Paris