The wife of the CEO of a city monopoly
A man forever stuck with the curse of monotony
And one morning her conscience decided to ask
If she died, would he recognise her death mask?
Every morning he leaves at seven-oh-nine
To make sure that he gets to the station on time
And he doesn't have a break to notice his wife
Is fading away and out of his life.
His children don't even know their own father
Only by his nickname 'the economic martyr'.
He's never there when the family sits for dinner
And his wife thinks 'he's not the saint, but the sinner'.
He steps through the door at a quarter to ten
Kicks off his shoes, sheds his suit and then
Rolls into bed with his blackberry in hand
And his wife can't see how he does not understand
That the spark of their marriage, the love that they shared
And the passion there used to be is no longer there.
The wife will comply with his demanding office hours
And pretends to still smile as inside she turns sour.
'Two out of three marriages end in divorce',
The television screams with an agressive force;
But the wife of the CEO is still holding on
To the love that she hopes hasn't completely gone.