Saturday, 1 October 2016

Svante No. 3 song


Often in shops of a quite normal size
Terror and panic I cannot disguise.
But when a department store’s doors I pass through
my self-discipline is put under the screw.

Here there’s too much, it’s all here by default,
from fine grand pianos to coarsest sea salt.
I came here for something I had to procure,
but what it was I’m completely unsure.

Soon all the goods start to swim past my eyes.
Both my ears roar. And my tongue changes size.
I point at things blindly before all goes black.
Pay up and frantically hurry off back.

Off to a pub where two beers and three snaps
save me from what would be instant collapse.
Then home to unpack what’s now in my string bag
though gooseflesh is all I can call my swag.

Never a thing I can put to some use.
Strange home utensils distinctly abstruse.
What shall I do with shoes too small by far,
a fine silver rattle and small-chequered bra?

Among the absurd things I now catalogue:
one warm dog’s blanket, but minus the dog.
A garden hose, but no flower bed in sight.
I wonder if this will go on all night –

Help! Give me strength! I am tempted anew
to the store’s bargain sale’s hullabaloo;
I waver and quaver and buy like a fool
a kennel, a topee – a whole swimming pool...

This is my evidence poignant and clear:
Wonderful bargains have all cost me dear.
So bind me, watch over me, dull me with wine,
and save me from sales and a total decline!

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