Cupid, drunk and stumbling,
Comes out of a bowling alley bar.
He drops his bow
But finally gets a few arrows and curse words off.
His arrows hit some people in the foot, resulting in troublesome fetishes,
But, because he is Cupid, fucked up beyond all recognition or not,
A few times he hits people's hearts.
"There!" he crows, waving a bottle. "Fall in love, you dopes!"
Except it sounds like, "There!
Fawin la, y'doe," because Cupid is fried to a crackly crunch.
They do, you know.
For a while, life is paradise, happiness, a candy-coated love song world.
By the time Cupid has spent the next morning talking to Ralph on the big white phone, and shoveling down aspirin;
By the time he has sheepishly turned in his report to God, and completed his community service,
These unions have only led to
Cupid gives up bowling and starts hanging out in church basements, drinking bad coffee,
But he still can't resist firing off a few arrows before and after the meetings.
His sponsor, a former boxer, tells him to "cut that shit out,"
But at least, sober,
His aim is a little better,
Though far from perfect.
If you fawin love,
Don't believe it is fate, kismet, "meant to be."
(you thought that last time, remember?)
It's just that little fucker Cupid