Weeks and Months by Neil Furr

Oh, pretty baby, don’t the bills pile high?
Sometimes I think they’re going to reach the sky.
Bottom’s falling out and I don’t know why,
And I don’t know what we’re going to do.
Along the way, somehow, we got behind,
Or maybe I was careless or credit card blind.
Or maybe that’s the way it’s all designed,
So, every single penny comes due.

Oh, pretty baby, I made the payments late,
And the sharks circle ‘round like they smell fresh bait.
And they won’t take time to negotiate!
So, what are we going to do?
For weeks and months how hard I tried,
Struggled half the night to keep the wolves outside.
But we can’t keep going on my foolish pride
And what are we going to do?

And she said:
We’ll go to the table, see every loving face,
Bow our heads and say the Grace.
If we can’t love here, we’ll love some place;
That’s what we’re going to do!
But late that night when the coast was clear,
In the corner of her eye, she allowed one tear.
She’d always counted on staying here
And that they could not do.