This is a poem that started life as a song in the style of Sparks, but never got completed because… well, I’m just not musical enough.

I always thought your blonde hair was actual,
But now you take off your clothes, I can see it’s not natural.
Under your cap, a cornfield was growing,
But if I take a closer look, I can see your roots showing.

You lied to me! You’re not a blonde.
It’s plain to see! You’re not a blonde.
You lied to me! You’re not a blonde.
You’re not a blonde.

You’re golden locks were such an attraction,
Before I knew that your sink had seen so much action.
Your cabinet’s full of bottles and potions,
Bleach, dye and repeat the previous motions.

You lied to me! You’re not a blonde.
It’s plain to see! You’re not a blonde.
You lied to me! You’re not a blonde.
You’re not a blonde.

Those other colours just never thrilled me,
And when I saw your deceit, you might as well have just killed me.
I’ll write away for some kind of brochure,
To find myself a new girl whose hair colour is kosher.

You lied to me! You’re not a blonde.
It’s plain to see! You’re not a blonde.
You lied to me! You’re not a blonde.
You’re not a blonde.

(c) Paul Ferry 2023