The jazz is too frenetic.  The oppressive, clotted sky leaves me
Uncertain.  Should I kill myself?  At some point, I must tell my
Wife that all is lost.  We'll have to leave this home which lives
Within our souls, which nurtured us, and our four kids, for 
One fourth of a century, a splendid place. a god-damned warren.
Where should I suggest we go?  A hovel somewhere in the city?
Possibly some antiseptic tract house on a cul-de-sac?  A choice
A man who's cursed would make, and, having made it, end his
Life, but I'm obliged to help her pack our things and set up
Somewhere else.  I will, but, surely you can see, I'd rather 
Simply die.