It's already a quarter past eight
You're going to be late again
Fix the collar of your jacket
Brush the remaining blond hair
I I'm always there whenever you want
Don't look so unhappy
She might make a drama out of it
Your wife
You're going back to your house
Watch television
After five years of living together
You put up with her, she gets used to it
Hide your bad mood from her
Think To bring her flowers
Even if sometimes you condemn her
Your wife
You come to seek from me
Seems of stolen happiness ©
But as soon as you have problems
It's her that you entrust them to
This everyday communion
It's a form of love
She is much more than Marie Jeanne
Your wife
Of course you don't want to admit it
But you are full of love Judged
As soon as you leave my arms
You become a petty bourgeois again
To give you self-confidence
Deep down, You don't mind
To see her lay down her arms
Your wife
I am the one you desire
For your pride and your pleasure
I would simply prefer
To be the mother of your children
If one believes that I I look good
She's the one sleeping on your shoulder
All things considered, I wonder
If it's not better to give you back
br/>̉ your wife

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