I sometimes wonder why he married me.
Maybe it was cold and I was warm.
It was December afterall.
'Lonely' then takes a different form.
I am well aware of my faults.
I am only a woman, not a stone.
I am not a hero or a lover.
I revel the days I was alone.
How can he love me with my flip-flops,
shorts and tank-tops in 40 degrees...
with my drunken smiles, eyes of rum,
always ending up down on my knees?
I am a fugitive from justice.
I am only a woman, his wife.
I am not beautiful nor am I pure.
I am quick to give up on life.
I wonder why he puts up with me.
He knew I'd love him eventually.
Amazing how he went out on a limb,
I am only a woman
and it's enough for him.