Their life is picturesque,
Behind a kitchenette you would find her silhouette
Wiping dinner sets clean while staring out at the whitest picket fence...
Her eyes were diligent, staring squarely at kitchenware prepared
As she cared and glared over her accoutrements for signs of wear and tear.

They were barely there yet she found the slightest blemish hard to ignore,
And noticed the most hairline of cracks even as they were starting to form.
With ardour she fought to remove grease, holding them in the small of her hand,
And cleansing dutifully, knowing it was all for her man...

...He stood tall and looked grand in a job where his hours were spent,
Massaging the ego's of some of the countries most powerful men.
He was her tower of strength who worked in their force,
To further her cause and offer his wife stability and sturdy support.

She was deserving of all the overtime he was pitching in,
After all she did for him, standing by him through thick and thin.
Yet it's the thing they held closest so they sought to maintain the vision,
And felt they had to sustain this image about the way they're living...

...The late addition of two point four kids added to this a purpose,
Which they nurtured to help portray a life that was picture perfect.
His wife was stood at the kitchen surface as she cleaned in her habit,
Picking out new cracks in the plates, but not the ones that appeared in her marriage...

After years of apparently being used, it had came to this
They'd become discolored,
Washed up,
Forgotten,
Both their finest china and their relationship.
She stayed with him and her defeated eyes would each provide
The reason why - It was her only way of keeping this Stanford dream alive...
And he's the type of devious guy to go along with his business,
- Man enough to cheat on his family, but not man enough to admit it.
The strong and the physically towering tome,
Hoping one day the cracks in their foundation will devour him whole.
She's now on her own as the dark descends,
Unable to merely wipe the plates clean and start again.
Her heart will mend but she feels its broken shards stab with each painful breath,
And no starched detergent could remove the distain this stain has left.
They co-exist at the same address but their just pretending,
And acting out a polished routine to discount that their love has ended.
Their family home is full of tension, no longer is their life so picturesque
She hides behind a kitchenette where you'll find her silhouette
Wiping dinner sets clean staring out at the whitest picket fence.
And trying to picture them before it all came to this,
Before they became discolored,
Washed up,
Forgotten.
Both their finest china and their relationship.
I hate to sit here feeling no remorse or forgiveness,
As awful as this is given all that I've witnessed,
And having his wife confide in me during each torturous visit
To my neighbours house... Knowing i'll never be anything more than his mistress.