D.I.Y.
It'll only take ten minutes to re-mastic the sink
Ten minutes should be plenty. At least that’s what you’d think
To rip the old stuff out and then just hoover up the mess
Slap a new bead down. There is no need for angst or stress
Well – the old stuff stuck like limpets. It refused to shift or budge
I hate the way it’s glued there. I’m not one to bear a grudge
But if I get my hands around the chemist who invented
Gunge that sticks forever then his head would soon be dented!
So with digging, scraping, swearing, clawing at the stuff
It came away eventually. I’d already had enough.
I cleaned it up. I dried it. The next should be a breeze
To mastic with some ice, white gunge. It should be done with ease.
I followed the instructions to the letter and began
The stuff spat from the nozzle like an overheated pan
I got it on the mirror. I got it on my face
And by the time I’d finished you could barely find a place
Where sticky, gooey plastic wasn’t glued to every spot
Fingers, hair, my trousers, eyebrows, chin, the bloomin’ lot
I tried with Fairy Liquid, I tried with scented soap
I tried with some white spirit - to remove it – not a hope.
It seemed like some infection from a science fiction book
Clinging, sticky, slimy, gloopy plastic. Quite a look
My fingers stuck together. My hands were caked in white
I prayed I wouldn’t glow beneath some ultra-violet light
Eventually by scrubbing with some papers towels and such
The white had gone, my skin was red and tender to the touch.
No matter good intentions. No matter how I try.
I really shouldn’t bother with the art of D.I.Y.
