For years I could not breathe your name
I dared not out of fear
That my poor, wounded, weeping heart
Would force a telling tear
And on my face, my wife would trace
The grief you’d put me through
And out of spite she would have spat:
“A putrid peach was Pru”
My heart’s own darling she’d despise
And bid me follow suit
To view you as faithless whore
From house of ill repute
For years I could not play our songs
I dared not out of fear
That my poor, broken heart would sob
And wife of mine would hear
And in my voice she would perceive
The echo of my pain
And curse you as, “that callous cow”
Who I had loved in vain
My heart’s own darling she’d call cruel
And bid me curse you too
Then I’d be forced to say, “I can’t!
I’m still in love with Pru!”