The Domestic Debt (Albert’s Lament)

Right, let’s be ‘onest, it’s a bit of a laugh, innit? The road to the bedroom is a proper obstacle path. The finish line keeps shiftin’, like a ghost in the fog, I’m lookin’ for passion, she’s lookin’ for the chore log. She says it’s nuffin’ , but I’m a C.I.A. spy, Readin’ between lines, lookin’ her in the eye. Nuffin’ means she’s fuming ‘bout a fings I said in May... Back in twenty-twenty-one. What a price I gotta pay. My brain’s achin’, bruv. Absolute liberty. Twelve hours of warm-up, that’s the deal today, I’ve been scrubbin’ the grout since the crack of day. She’s loungin’ on the sofa, pointin’ at a speck of dust, While I’m wringin’ out the mop, fueled by desperate lust. She knows I’m a sucker for a bit of the good stuff, So she’s makin’ me iron every single cuff. I’m a marathon runner in a domestic race, Just to get a look at her... I’m tired face. I’ve done the windows, the gutters, and I’ve organized her spice rack alphabetically. I’m dyin’ ‘ere. Gotta be a yogi, mentally limber and all that, But she’s the one holdin’ the bloody cricket bat. I’m ready to go, heart beatin’ like a drum, She says, Ooh, wait, I need to call my mum. The mood’s gone, vanished, poof—into thin air, She’s checkin’ her split ends in the mirror over there. She just asked me to paint the spare room. It’s 11 PM. She said the color inspires her. I’m gettin’ the brushes, aren’t I? Memory of an elephant, that’s what I need in my head, Or the bedroom’s a freezer and I’m sleeping in the shed. I’ve deleted my memories of every cup final, Replaced ‘em wiv her favorite records on vinyl. She asks, Do I look plump in these designer jeans? I’m a diplomat, mate, I know what danger means. So I’m in the shower, scrubbin’ like a man possessed, Smellin’ like Lavender Breeze, hopin’ for the best. I’ve rubbed her feet till my thumbs turned blue, She says, That was nice... now go make some stew. Sex is a bank account? Nah, she’s the taxman, bruv... And I’m just bankrupt... in the name of love. I’ve done the gutters, the lounge, and the kitchen floor, I’ve polished the brass on the bloomin' front door. Then she whispers the words, like a siren at sea, Tonight, my darlin’, you can watch the telly wiv me. I’m thinkin’ This is it, the Promised Land is near... But my eyelids are lead... ARE YOU JOKING, ALBERT?! YOU FELL ASLEEP DURING THE CREDITS?!