I'd planned to be Heathcliff's Cathy,
Lady Brett, Nicole or Dominique or Scarlett O'Hara.
I hadn't planned to be folding up the laundry
In uncombed hair and last night's smudged mascara,
'Twas at the Seige of Matagarda, during the Peninsular War,
That a Mrs Reston for courage outshone any man there by far;
She was the wife of a Scottish soldier in Matagarda Port,
And to attend to her husband she there did resort.
A heroic story I will unfold,
Concerning Jenny Carrister, a heroine bold,
Who lived in Australia, at a gold mine called Lucknow,
And Jenny was beloved by the the miners, somehow.
Yes! She is my heroine mom
She is my heroine mom.
Who led me through the right path
Feet touch the floor beside the bed
Lips form a prayer for guidance
Slowly made my way to the
Kitchen to welcome
Mom so dotes on her fussy family
She wakes up at the crack of dawn,
Gets her rustic routine in motion
With crimson curtains drawn
You got me addicted now I’m involved in this sickness
I fell for you like everyone else
I kissed you and hugged you like I couldn’t live without it
Then you dropped me to the floor
O newborn babe, your mom is a careerist, a stylist,
A heroine mom,
A European mom, not an Asiatic one,
Ask for not milk!
In the absence of her,
How to be a romantic?
The heroine of flesh and blood
The attraction of Lawrence,
The gipsy in love,
The hippie after