Apologies to John Prine on Valentine's Day

Fist through drywall,
fist through a door,
dishes all broken
right there on the floor.
Well, it looks like something
Picasso would paint,
a mere matter of canvas,
but, honey, it ain't.
It's the sins of our fathers
and our mothers, too;
the sins of the Nazis
(Whoa!),
the sins of the Jews,
so shake it, don't break it,
and I'll tell you what,
those old men there
were checking your butt.
Sunrise, pot pies,
Rice-a-Roni,
white bread and mustard:
It's all baloney.
Now, you're leaving me
for another jerk.
I don't understand it,
but whatever works.
I'll gird up my loins
and pack up my clothes.
You know,
I always loved you
in that there pose,
arms all akimbo,
head to one side,
hair pinned up in back:
Take him for that ride.