The grotesque little fly on my TV screen at 3 a.m.
I swat, but you'll never go away.
You keep on coming back and buzzing in my face,
Taunting me with your wings.
I gave you the power to fly but you refuse exit through the window.
You keep on coming back and shitting on my hands.
I rolled up a newspaper and gave you a good twack,
But you just limped around,
And landed on my foot.
Don't pretend you're the martyr,
That you're the better half,
That I'm the fly that needs beaten with a magazine.
Flies will always land in shit, there's nothing to change that.
You can aim for flowers all you want,
But the bees will only make you feel unwelcome,
And we all know how you hate that.
I hope that one day, when you dive at my TV screen,
You smash your face against surface and realize finally
That it's too hard for you to get through,
That you're not strong enough for the double-plated glass.
I got it made special, so that pesky little bugs like you
Will only smash your face and burn your eyes out,
From the glare if you get too close.