I’ve been slaving and behaving; I’ve been scrimping, I’ve been saving
but I never get a moment to enjoy the peace I’m craving
and the tunnel that I’m crawling through gets longer by the day
so I’m thinking—bar the drinking—there must be a better way.
Is it better? Is it better to become a good forgetter?
Is it peaceful? Is it calm? Will it fix me like a charm?
Well, I never! Well, I never—what a dandy little pill!
What a soother, what a wonder! What? Another? Yes, I will.
Why, there’s really nothing to this! Problem solved! Although … although …
I do feel a little sheepish I’m the very last to know.
All you ladies should have mentioned what was propping up your grins;
what was keeping you from killing sprees and other deadly sins.
When I think that half the mums I know are gobbling these down
and the other half are paddling gamely but about to drown
it’s surprising and amazing and a little bit bizarre
that the little pills that saved me are as secret as they are.