My Aging Cinderella ( Ivan P. )

My Cinderella with trembling hands — once a flirt-queen, once purty, With a jar of moonshine and wilted carnations, I hurry to you, full of hope, We’re way past thirty — worn out and dirty, What’s stuck to our souls won’t wash off with booze or soap. ’Cause we only live once — and tomorrow we might drop dead, Yeah, we’re breathing tonight — tomorrow we’re just dead, And nobody gives a shit — no one but us gives a shit, Lai-la, lai-la, lai-la… Pour it! My old and sick Cinderella — what is it that makes you bother? Like a little hamster scratching through that dusty photo tomb, Your glass slipper’s long been cracked — let’s drink to that, and crack another, So at least for one brief moment, there’s a little light inside this gloom. ’Cause we only live once — and tomorrow we might drop dead, Yeah, we’re breathing tonight — tomorrow we’re just dead, And nobody gives a shit — no one but us gives a shit, Lai-la, lai-la, lai-la… Pour it! My aging Cinderella — ex prom-night queen, now faded and smaller, Everything went wrong — and it’s good you don’t remember it all, Your dreams are sweet and quiet, but your house has long gone hollow, We’ll all fade out without a trace — never seeing our star fall. ’Cause we only live once — and tomorrow we might drop dead, Yeah, we’re breathing tonight — tomorrow we’re just dead, And nobody gives a shit — no one but us gives a shit, Lai-la, lai-la, lai-la… Pour it! ’Cause we only live once — and tomorrow we might drop dead, Yeah, we’re breathing tonight — tomorrow we’re just dead, And nobody gives a shit — no one but us gives a shit, Lai-la, lai-la, lai-la… Pour it!