En la crepúsculo de Lizette (Le American Slob)

Hey you

With the big eyes

And the lousy brows

Silly smile

And exhausted

Exhaling sigh of a stutter of a laugh

Thanks

Hey you

With the manicured

Designer Husband bought purse

Filled with silly shit

I can't pronounce nor care to learn

A purpose or reason for it's existence

With a civilized western woman's life

Thanks

You American Slob

Thanks

You American

Slob

Your past laughter

Drives another cap open

The beers on my tab

A craven reminder of

Lousy replays

The same scenario

Of a wide left shot on goal

Thanks

Thanks for making me

Feel alive

Thanks for making me

Realize

The desk with a plant on it

Is mine

Thanks for making me

Feel alive

Thanks for making me

Realize

My day job

makes me wanna

die

Thanks

available now

of bad character

with nothing to offer

but confusion sadness

and lack of direction

smothered by the bleak pastels

of dismal patriarch blood

looking for a change

and many things

to end

machine

so tired

but nothing to sleep

so much to say

but nothing to speak

my life is becoming that

horrible hum

of a repetitive machine

again