Wistful Thinking

Going Home
is like a chore
used to be such a joy
I wish I could just go
and never return to this woman
whom I call my wife

used to be so beautiful
her hair long to her waist
covering her pert breasts
as she flutter her eyelashes at me
nowadays her eyes open wide
and I swear they blaze

she sends lightning
across the room
castrate me
instead of making me high
on lust for her
she always turns away

I don't care
if she has a mustache now
or that her hair is growing
on her legs
I just want to get laid
but she always play dead

whats a man to do
sometimes the night is so long
and the day too short
I want to run away
with the waitress
at the dark coffee bar

maybe I will quietly go
out of the door tonight
start my car and not look back
just keep on driving
until I reach the edge
of the Cape of Good Hope.