The Missus has retreated. To her dark and shady lair.
Lights a candle for the mirror. So she can sit and stare.
In the eyes that hold the secrets. That no one can ever know.
Alone dancing at the shadows. Smoke swirl tween ash and glow.
“Ain’t nobody’s business… There’s gonna be hell to pay.”
After all the cryin’s done. The Missus is gonna go away.
She will be the burden, and carry one more tale to tell.
Details might be sketchy, don’t ask how this Martyr fell.