Strange how one day-an hour-a minute

And a silly old countdown changes the equation:

Growing older by a year I’m not necessarily wiser,

The numerical increase in the count of my anniversaries

Doesn’t necessarily make them sweeter.

My children, though technically older,

Are not necessarily mature or independent.

The leftovers in my fridge

Have crossed the safest use by date.

The unpaid bills for the month of December

Will incur a fine for late payments in 2011.

My mortgage still has to be paid

(The money spent on Oz Lotto’s 31 million was a blunder!)

I hear the interest rate may rise,

With the increased Christmas spending,

Making the economy look falsely stronger.

Oh Damn! My shrinking wallet cannot keep pace

With the discounts at shopping malls any longer.

I need more hair dye, more creams to hide behind.

I have more reason to remain cynical-

Be dispirited- a bloody spoiler-

A nasty stick in the mud!

The drunk around the corner curses my stiff response

To his Bacchus inspired good cheer!

I fear for his life when he starts up the car

Unmindful that he cannot see straight

(Though he can’t always blame it on the alcohol!)

Reality is the devil’s weapon when the fantasy of hope

Unfurls a million possibilities that a New Year can bring.

Let’s sing then-at least for now. Watch the fireworks on TV

Burn the old man to ash and hope a Phoenix will emerge

From the ashes of our earlier expectations.

‘F***w**.’ I hear you say,

"Did you have to be so brutally honest? I needed to escape my reality!"

"This is 2011. She’ll be all right mate!"

‘Don’t worry mate! It’s all good’

Yes! I stammer and sing to your tune-

Que Sara Sera What Ever Will Be Will Be

‘Mate,’ I say, ‘the only reason I’m singing out of tune

Is because I have a sore throat!’

Que Sara Sera What Ever Will Be Will Be.