In days gone by, how she would cry
If in curlers seen.
Those far of days, they did exist?
Or was it all a dream?

With cold cream on
The time has come to pass,
When the hair's a mess
And teeth are in a glass.

The rampant fires
That used to be, have dwindled to a spark,
As we read our books, turn our backs,
And go to sleep in the dark.

So who’s to blame?
Her, or I? A hard one to resolve,
It’s six of me and six of she
As we both evolve.

We drifted, so much flotsam
Upon the restless tide.
We didn’t even keep secrets
We had nothing left to hide.

So all that’s left are papers
Coming from the court
To put a final end to this.
But it was never what we sought.