I was sitting by the mailbox waiting on love,  stiff as
a recently washed shirt- sitting on an ironing board
I’m sorry if you catch me in a sour mood, there’s this moody
spirit that let me fall in love with the echoes hitting the wall-
While my voice was shouting at the wind; I could hardly breathe
My lover played a tune with my beard, as if they were guitar strings-
But I couldn’t complain to this lioness, for she’s the roar of a
mistress’s hungry temper

But I still love her so, still from the days of our courtship- and every
night she opens up to me as a suitcase, and I bare the luggage of her
nightly sores, with these bags hanging under my eyes-
I still love her so, as her chatter mouth is like a tap running,
and I’m her sink catching all that gossiping spit-

I still love her so, even as she’s an office desk covered in endless
papers, when she starts to feel like a piece of work-
I still love her so, cos she firstly showed me all of her flaws,
so nothing she does surprises me at all; still she was pleasantly
surprised that I still chose her, to be my wife