No more the mortar twixt your bricks,
no more the grease that turns your cogs,
no more the wax that fuels your wicks,
no more your tails that wag my dogs.
I lost your pass the parcel game,
you ran and left me with the prize,
a burden wrapped in guilt and blame,
tied up with too much compromise.
I’ve had enough of being used,
I’m giving back this toxic load,
so keep your chores cos they’re refused,
it’s time for me to hit the road.