She stands alone before sink and bowl And feels the ache within her soul The hand that once caressed her there Now rests on arm of favourite chair She does not mind her lovers belly Or hours of footie watched on telly The years have passed in shades of grey Oh if only life had been that way Now with hands in rubber gloves Plunged in a bowl of Fairy's suds She thinks about a bit of heaven with Mr Jones at fifty seven
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