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The Self-Diagnosed Widow
Behind closed doors, who knows?
Marcy, were you fed up with wandering eyes and pretty little show girls?
How did he sleep? In red sheets?
Did you tie those ties while he crooned of love, and cut out those wandering eyes?
Wringing your hands around his neck
Gazing in the mirror at a pretty black dress
You have to convince the rest of the world of your woe
Whose business is it if you decided to be his last pretty little show girl?
She Killed Him?
Cool :D