Oh, Who is that Mad Bugger?
(Apologies to A E Housman, Oh Who is that Poor Sinner)
Oh, who is that mad bugger with the knife wound in his chest?
And what has he been up to that leaves folk so unimpressed?
A woman's standing over him and giving him what for;
She is calling him a bastard, 'cos he's bleeding on her floor.
She said that he was lovely, it was such a crying shame;
And she didn't want to hurt him, but she stabbed him all the same.
But once blood started flowing, she started getting sore,
And now she rather hates him for bleeding on her floor.
She says it's bloody typical, just thinking of himself:
Why can't he crawl away and do his bleeding somewhere else?
It simply isn't decent, it should be against the law,
All this falling down and groaning, and bleeding on the floor.
And everyone agrees with her, he's slagged off in the press;
Naming him and shaming him for making such a mess.
He should be made to clean it up and stop exuding gore,
And take responsibility for bleeding on her floor.
(I'm no fan of Robin Thicke, but the article in the Grauniad calling his album 'stalker-esque', for detailing his sorrow over his estranged wife seemed to ignore the other side of the story, in a way that probably affects many more men and women with less dubious moral credentials, including, recently some good friends: there's more than one kind of victim blaming)