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Musical: It's Only Life
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Painting my kitchen My therapist said I should write about painting my kitchen The most boring topic I ever heard I can’t think of a word Is she sadistic? Assigning me chores I could never complete So I’ll go ballistic, fail miserably, and she’ll see how I handle defeat. Or she’s being artistic, looking for clues in the color I choose. Am I painting it red? Am I angry with someone whose stuck in my head, But not in my bed? Is it something she said? A parental dilemma I’ve yet to resolve, It’s hard to believe I can really evolve by mentally painting my kitchen. Am I slathering on a deep blue? Is that what she expects me to do? A truer blue than anyone I’ve ever loved has ever been true. Would she even care? Or would she pocket my check with a pat on my cheek And ask me what time can make it next week? And mention deep blue is a reflection of utter despair. Painting my kitchen. Am I painting it green? She’d love it, for all I clearly covet. Your lover, your fame, The rise in your stock Your time-share in Spain, The size of your cock—tail ring! Enough of this color thing. Why paint the kitchen? Why not the bedroom? It’s such a dead room lately. A new paint job would greatly enhance it For the next horizontal dance it may, I pray, oh please someday, be the setting for If I thought it would speed that up I’d be willing to paint the floor With my tongue, In the nude, On network t.v. Meanwhile, back at the kitchen, My therapist is sitting with her arms crossed, she’s looking stern She’s asking if I’ve finished her assignment and what I learned. I know she hopes for some dramatic breakthrough, To make her feel she’s had a real affect, So what the heck! I tell her; Painting one’s kitchen is more than then psyche reflected in colors selected. At the risk to sound a little strange, I think its about change. Its not about dry paint, but rather the process of applying. Honoring each shade, instead of diluting or denying it. One never completely covers over a color; They always bleed through. The most we can hope for is a livable blend of the old and the new Ok so I’m laying it on pretty thick But it seems to be doing the trick. A beautiful cacophonous overlap of long sustaining notes Life is not a coat of many colors, it is a color of many coats. Do I really believe all this, it’s anyones guess. Does it win her approval? That’s the important thing… …yes! [Thanks to Steve C for lyrics]
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