You probably pictured it differently
Than rusty VWs all your life
At one point almost married a butcher
So solid, so grounded, a craftsman, you thought
Now solving crosswords in bed
Leave the light on, there's no one that minds
'O8, you stopped wearing makeup
You're sick just thinking about “en la beige”
Your green boutique dress
Doesn't fit you no more
That's a shame cause boutique's coming back
Now faint-hearted dance moves in the bathroom
You and the mirror, the two of you
One year you dated a professor
On the third date he told you he liked peeing games
You always wanted to paint or to emigrate
Off the hustle and the errands, just fucked it all up
Grandma's still sending you money
For one decent dinner, no plus one
Petrarka wrote 300 sonnets
All for a woman that didn't exist
On the way home you cried in the taxi
Love is an awful enemy, my dear
This year you are 33
But when you cry you still look sixteen