The taxes of my love are late, late, late
and she’s also late for a luncheon date

So my good old co-dependent self
leaps straight away into the mess
taking as always his cue to rescue
every damsel in every distress

Leaps as always, and leaps so fast
that it leaps well over and past
the part of me that does not like
this part and calls it names

The one that grumbles at the load
at every light on Bee Cave Road

And probably would have chewed
that bone all the way to San Antone
if it wasn’t for the flowers on 360

The bluebonnets and the buttercups
and the paintbrush made him hush
the ones we would have missed
without the detour tour

A smile and a reminder
from the parent of the pair
do up your seatbelts children and
don’t squabble in the back
sometimes when you do a favor
you quickly get it back