It was just a dream
The coloured fence
And how my head
Fit into your neck
The bustling street
Where our car is parked
But we never drive
We just rather walk
My morning tea
You look forward to after
An uneventful night of
Watching tv
The roof is leaking
A ceiling made from paper mache
'Cause I'm not a true homemaker
Our kids stop at three
Anything beyond that I'll become
A monster
And who wants that?
A treehouse with no tea parties
A makeshift fort with no cushions
To barricade our army
Door knobs without the excitement of you coming home early

I hate it here

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