When She cries me a river, 

I don’t see the Channel Islands. 

Nor do I stand on the pier,

And see the violence

Of the blue sea waves.

I see Her life as it is. 

Twenty-five years of an unhappy marriage.

Three struggling, brown teenagers

Neither one owning their own carriage.

Her whole life savings,

Flushed out once he walked out those doors.

His lover enjoying the riches,

While She is on the floor,

Lamenting the day She let him go.

She cries me a river, 

When rent is due.

The utility bill is no longer blue,

But red, because she’s past due.

She opens the fridge, to cool down the heat

From last night’s dispute,

Only to find one bottled water

And a broken light bulb.

She remembers, “Shit, they’ve shut down the power”.

She cries me a river,

Her hands nearly cracked. 

Ammonia and Vinegar, slowly eating up Her flesh.

Her veins on Her legs, plump and ready to burst.

No longer able to support Herself anymore.

Her back, in agony,

As well as Her head, lost in despair.

Now I cry myself a river.

Knowing that if She goes down, I go as well.

Farewell to my lover,

For this ship has been wrecked.