My father is playing “The house of the rising sun” with his carboard guitar.
He’s not a gambling man. He has nothing to gamble with.
My mother is a gambling woman.
She spent all our money in a bingo hall: her money, my father’s money and my money, my inheritance, hers and my father’s...
And now we’re fucking poor. Poor as rats. Poorer than the poorest Dicken’s character, poorer than the poorest westerner on Earth.
We spend our live in sin and misery.
We steal, kidnap and kill.
We eat what we found in the rubbish bin, bad, smelly and disgusting things, mainly.
Once, my lovely mother killed a cat for us to eat, because those posh and conceited neighbors of us didn’t have anything good in their rubbish bin.
My father plays his cardboard guitar and my mom has a problem. She’s a gambling woman and the only time she’s satisfied is when she’s asleep.
She’s the most satisfied woman in the world.
He’s not a gambling man. He has nothing to gamble with.
My mother is a gambling woman.
She spent all our money in a bingo hall: her money, my father’s money and my money, my inheritance, hers and my father’s...
And now we’re fucking poor. Poor as rats. Poorer than the poorest Dicken’s character, poorer than the poorest westerner on Earth.
We spend our live in sin and misery.
We steal, kidnap and kill.
We eat what we found in the rubbish bin, bad, smelly and disgusting things, mainly.
Once, my lovely mother killed a cat for us to eat, because those posh and conceited neighbors of us didn’t have anything good in their rubbish bin.
My father plays his cardboard guitar and my mom has a problem. She’s a gambling woman and the only time she’s satisfied is when she’s asleep.
She’s the most satisfied woman in the world.
1 comentario:
you're mom isn't asleep. she's dead, isn't she?
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