My wife was ensconced in the kitchen,
Preparing the food as required,
When she slipped on a rogue slice of onion,
Walloped her head and expired.
I admit I was quite disappointed
That she died with abruptness and violence,
For I had to finish the dinner myself.
But oh, what a beautiful silence!
For thirty five years we’d been married
And I’d taken it all on the chin.
We’d never had a single argument for
I never could get a word in.
I dream of her face in the night time,
The way that her hips used to wiggle.
And sometimes it all gets too much for me,
And I simply just break down and giggle.
The pawnbroker’s got all her jewellery,
And I got a job lot on her shoes.
I got offers for all her fine dresses,
Sure, it would have looked bad to refuse.
I’m surprised just how well I am coping
With facing this life on my own,
And I wish I could go to the funeral, but
We’re playing away to Athlone.