Art Turns Romantic by Don Taco (copyright 2018 )

Art Turns Romantic 

by Don Taco

we're born alone, there's no denying that

we die alone, they say that can be tough

but in between, if we get lucky, just the way I did

there's us, there's you and me, and all our stuff

there's folks who see no value in what others have cast out

they don't see why you'd gather things and keep them lying about

I guess they've never been so poor they had to wheel and deal

or fret about what they could sell to purchase their next meal

there's no one you can bluff, the times are always tough

it's vitally important to have stuff

we die alone, no matter who's around

we're born alone, hands empty, in the buff

but in between, if we get lucky, just the way I did

there's us, there's you and me, and all our stuff

I had a carburetor once, well, part of it, at least

my neighbors turned their noses up, they just saw rust and grease

a man came by one day who was restoring salvaged tanks

he paid me ninety dollars and gave his eternal thanks

when push comes down to shove, like diamonds in the rough

it's vitally important to have stuff

we live alone, until we find a mate

a mate who fits our hand just like a glove

and after that, if we get lucky, just the way I did

there's you and me and all the stuff we love

there's folks who say the stuff we own defines us and our needs

and others who think you can have enough, they call it greed

if there's one thing I've learned, one thing I know without a doubt

you never know what's valuable until you throw it out (not that we've ever done that)

don't give me any guff, I can't say it enough

it's vitally important to have stuff

Him: your stuff or mine?

Her: how can I decide?? can't we keep both???

(They gaze longingly and embrace)

and I would share my stuff with you, my stuff could all be yours

collecting more and sorting could become our favorite chores

and you could share your stuff with me, your stuff could all be mine

and we could gather more stuff all the time

there's us, there's you and me, a couple old console teevees

a cast iron skillet just like gramma had, the handle's bad

a dozen broken stoves, some hubcaps we found by the road

the national geographics from the year mom married dad

there's us, there's you and me, aluminum fake christmas trees

the tupperware mom had when we were kids, without the lids

some things that don't have names, a lot of old bicycle frames

and bricks, enough to build the pyramids

they're trying to make us make out like we can make do with less

we have no choice, we have to call their bluff

they just don't comprehend the value of this stuff, I guess

I'm not convinced we'll ever have enough

how can they call it greed, they don't know what you'll need

you can't pursue the arts, if you don't have the parts

the times are always rough, I hope we have enough

it's vitally important to have stuff

there's only you and me against the world wth all our stuff