The Humanistic Psychoanalyst

Love is lost in the throes of science

Throes: Violent pangs of suffering.

Pallid Placation.
In terms of my body,
I find myself irresistable-
But the ladies seem to think otherwise.

Love is lost in the throes of science,
These ladies don't understand,
A working man, such as myself,
Brings home the bacon,
And suffers for it.

We married, and sentenced ourselves to death.
A coming of technology threw my life into a spin,
My new wife hadn't an approving bone in her body,
Only distrust, and disloyalty,
To her _husband_.

We don't get out much,
And the wife has founded reasons
To disregard my life,
Pester my busy nights
With needless chatter.

Love is lost in the throes of science,
Broken as I go the other way,
The wife will not be found,
I've made sure of it.