Here are some slightly altered lyrics to two songs by a band my husband and I both adore (this is not an upbeat post)

(the original song is Southwood Plantation Road by the Moutain Goats)

I got you
You’ve got whatever’s left in me to get
Our conversations are like a bad sitcom
Mostly dull with predictable conflict

We spend a lot of money
It makes us feel old
We raise up a little roof
Against the cold

In southern Wellington
Where at night the stars blow like milk across the sky
Where the high wires drop
Where the fat tui fly

All night long
The children call out
Your blue eyes
Sunken with doubt

I am not gonna lose you
We are gonna stay married
In this house that smells like stale baby urine
Where nothing gets tidied

In southern Wellington
Where the kids will run amok
Put on their summer hats
And mingle with unsuspecting childless friends

________

this one is new lyrics to “This Year”, same band

I broke down on a Saturday morning
I put my head on the floor
Blunted noise and brief dark
And listened to the children roar
My messy house around me
And good things ahead
A boy named [redacted]
Wants a little of my time
A baby competing for attention
Crashing and kicking
Aha!
Listen to the children whine
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me
I am going to make it though this year
If it kills me
I watched Fightclub in a drunken haze
I was seventeen years young
Hurt my knuckles punching the grass
The taste of scotch rich on my tongue
And then [husband name redacted] showed up
And we hung out
Trading swigs from a bottle
All bitter and clean
Locking eyes
Holding hands
Twin high maintenance machines
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me
I am going to make it though this year
If it kills me
I look at the clock in the Wellington dusk
I could feel the frustration inside of me hum
Pictured the look on my old lover’s face
Ready for the bad things to come
I sat on the floor
As he opened the gate
The key in the lock
Stuck in the house all day
The scene ends badly
As you might imagine
In a cavalcade of mutual exhaustion
There will be feasting and dancing
In Mapua next year
I am going to make it through this year
If it kills me
I am going to make it though this year
If it kills me
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