by Dean Friedman
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The shopping bag ladies, they live in the terminal waiting room,
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Patiently whiling their hours away,
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Desperately keeping their demons at bay,
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Making up lies about times that were good.
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Extolling the virtues of motherhood,
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Staunchly defending their sanity
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Clutching one last shred of vanity
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Fixing a kerchief she wears on her head
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Covered in posies and lilacs in blues and in reds
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Don't pity me, don't pity me,
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You beautiful bastard boy,
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I'll be just how I am.
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I'll be just how I am.
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The shopping bag ladies, it's not that well known but they're really in vogue.
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The latest in fashions their tastes are so true,
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Sweat sox and sneakers, a sweater or two
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And safely behind the walls they have made,
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Secure in their brown paper barricades
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Worldly possessions they'll not have to lose
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Lightweight emotional refuse.
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They rant and they rave, they're mad and they're crazy.
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And that's how they stay free.
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Don't pity me, don't pity me,
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You beautiful bastard boy,
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I'll be just how I am.
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I'll be just how I am.
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The shopping bag ladies, it's hard to believe, but once they were childrenˇ¦
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Shopping Bag Ladies
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| Dean Friedman |
