The woman.

A woman, she stays at home
all day,
Cooking and cleaning her
life away,
Her husband, he sits at the
pub all night,
For he is the man and he
has the right.

The woman she loves him
and does not complain,
Coz when it comes down to it,
she feels she's to blame.

The children are hungry,
the cupboards are bare,

The husband sinks another one,
For only himself does he care.

The children are dirty and
need a good scrub,
But there’s no hot water
to fill up the tub,

The children are cold and need
to be fed,
The man staggers home,
ready for bed,

He walks in the door,
mad as all hell,
Dinners not waiting,
So this man he does yell.

The woman she knows,
the fate that awaits,
and heads out the door,
towards the front gate,
Too late.

She hits the ground so hard.
I guess in this life,
she chose the wrong cards.

The children they watch,
from behind the closed blind,
as their father walks away,
leaving their mother behind.

The police come,
the paramedics as well,
These two young children
have a sad story to tell.

As the ambo gently wipes
the blood,
from the young womans head,
He looks at the children..

Your mummy is dead.