Freya

He comes to me in bits, say water's in his blood, somehow nothing fits, how Ma baked the cake, more to life than this, his Da just the same, he carries yellow lists, plain but all ripped up, cries before the kids, if there's another way, perhaps he needs a shove, defeat his troubled days, I'll do what he insists, even if it drives me nuts, await another blitz, act like someone gay, who'll always make a fuss, suffer all his phases, in his house of whispers, history never shuts, you don't need a chorus, stop him chopping wood.