Harry's wife is on her own, Harry's up and Harry's gone livin' in a middle-aged Babylon, with a loose-lipped, tight-hipped youthful blonde. Harry's wife is fifty-four, it's been thirty years or more since she gave up her job for Harry and the kids; round about now she's sorry that she did.
Harry and the blonde will be okay, they'll manage quite nicely on Harry's pay. Harry's wife doesn't have a wage, not many jobs around for women of her age. The house and the car are in Harry's name, the bank accounts are just the same. She'll have to hire a lawyer to get her share; and get used to playin' solitaire.
Harry's wife, Harry's wife, what you gonna do with the rest of your life? Are you just gonna lay down, rollover, and die? Harry's wife, Harry's wife, are you gonna make the best of your life? Stand up, lady, and spit in Harry's eye.
Harry's mates all nudge and wink, it's clear what Harry's mates all think. While their wives phone in their sympathies and avoid her like some contagious disease. Her kids are embarrassed and mortified, they lecture and they patronise; «Isn't it disgusting?» they all say, «People of your age shouldn't act this way.».
Harry's wife was christened Emily Jane, but few if any use her name: she's worn a label most of her life: mother, housekeeper, and dutiful wife. So Emily Jane has shed no tears, just thirty pounds and fifteen years, got a new job, new friends and new clothes, after years spent as a daisy she's bloomin' like a rose.
Emily Jane's cast aside her veil, lifted her game and broken out of jail, moved from the shadow into the light, and I think she's gonna be all right 'cause no matter whichever path she takes at least she'll be makin' her own mistakes. Her life will never be the same since she got to know a woman called Emily Jane.Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
