Roberta

When in my life it's so dead
To make a dead person blush
I don't wallow, no
I think of Roberta

When in my life it's so empty
To make a shy person dance
I don't cry, no
I think of Roberta

When my life is dull
And my heart is in a slump
My wife, whom I still don't love
Then I think of Roberta

When in my life it's so ugly
To make a priest slam dance
I don't collapse, no
There's Roberta

Roberta is very petite
And in her hazel eyes
I immediately saw
Like a smell of celebration

Roberta is 82 years old
Roberta has three children
Who could be my parents
Sometimes I think about it from time to time

My Roberta has a dress
That stumbles down to her ankles
And hanging from an earlobe
A little shining cross

Roberta has loved men
A cook and two soldiers
But on her mantelpiece that reigns
It's indeed a photo of me

Roberta is very slender
And when she returns my smiles
I strongly believe in the little Jesus
On her stretching ear

Roberta is 82 years old
Roberta has three children
Who could be my parents
Sometimes I think about it from time to time

In the cemetery alleys
We stroll down her memory
Through the names on the stones
She, how her husband was a cuckold
And him, what a bastard

And when Sunday reaches the end
Of its rainy afternoon
I lay my head on her lap
And she plays with my hair

Then in her sheets that smell like a century
She tells me she hasn't done that
Since her last soldier
So she cries, my Roberta

She tells me she doesn't have time anymore
To be reasonable and she takes
My cheeks in her hands
And my lips for good bread

Yes, Roberta is 82 years old
I don't know her grandchildren
I know they could be my parents
She laughs about it, showing a few teeth

Roberta still has her flask
Of holy water under her arm
She brought it back from Lourdes
With friends all a bit older than me

When my life is crap
When things are bad between us
In the fabric of my dreams
Roberta dances endlessly

When my life is a mess
My kids are ugly and they annoy me
But Sunday is coming soon
And Sunday is Roberta

Roberta will have her hands outstretched
Like when she waits for me every time
With the smile that the leech
I don't love, never had

Roberta will have put on her dress
The one that cascades down to her ankles
And then hanging from her earlobe
Her little shining cross