That's making me so surly.
I can't think what else could be causing it.
It's not my wife's stressing out, surely.
It has to be that I will never again see,
My uncle, who I already saw rarely.
His ever-happy face that shone through, through his illness,
Made me wish I knew him when he was thirty.
I may be over-sensitive to her reactions,
When they are completely over-exaggerated.
This is the woman with whom I will be forever,
And who, to my family just commiserated.
And it's alright,
I may be saying more than I really should.
Why don't you look in the obituaries?
They'll tell you more than I ever possibly could.
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