Bond Street Catalogues - Andy Bell

A parasite on affection

A leach on love

And siphon off what is good intent

To an offshore bank account

You fame the love game

For short some game but then

After when the pole sawed off

Wearing your finest pink rubber washing up gloves

You thinking sex with him something

And for sure the thought of it

You really can’t stand it

Cause you’re married for money not for love

But he dribbles his food you’re thumbing through

The bond street catalogues

But when he ciphered to his card philosophy

A nodding donkey in his company

You brace his and wept as long as you can

Make a bit and wait for your next tuck and nip

In continents into his bag just drips

And his nurse wipes his ass clean of yesterday’s shit

One worked out which of his antique shoe

To give you pocket money for

The bond street catalogues

Did it dawn on you when you married him

That you may well have to carry him up the stairs

To the marital bed

Where you made every excuse and left

He knew your off the top proposal

And subsequent hasty engagements

That you my dear were just after

Some sort of financial arrangements

He played along and he framed it

Because company when you’re lonely is contagious

But he recalls how bitter and

How stunned you were to love of his trust funds

The bulk of what you thought was his last will

Was tied up beyond the reach of your good self

So you chummed out a stipend

A salary which you draw every month

With unconcealed

When he dies and you just can’t wait

You backing out house or two upon his large estate

But for now it’s a slob it’s a full time job

A tiny compassion for your baggage for

The bond street catalogues

Cause you’re married for money not for love

But he dribbles his food you’re thumbing through

The bond street catalogues

The gloss of that mutually beneficial arrangement

To reality dawned to this bitter estrangement

For the age gap you claimed you could not see

Is a generation gap of enormity

What you calmly thought would be let’s say fair

That you’d breeze through with ease now full term care

Lined by treasures you assume would be there

Not savvy at all dear to complete cashed away

But still in your dreams you’re busy marking off

What is that you have and have not got

In the now aging and dog-eared

Bond street catalogues

Cause you’re married for money not for love

But he dribbles his food you’re thumbing through

The bond street catalogues

He calls your name with a splatter and a cough

And a heartfelt sorry that he’s feeling so rough

You reassess your skills and look happy with your lot

And put back on the shelf again

Put back on the shelf again

The bond street catalogues

The bond street catalogues