Love, In A Way

Out of bed at ten, at breakfast at two
I go through the day as gentlemen do.
Done with work around seven, to town before eight
I seek out my strumpet before I’m too late.
Holding her hand, I lead her upstairs.
Try to fall on the bed, lest we fall over chairs.
Sick to my stomach, but healthy within
Exciting your soul cannot be a sin!
I hold her so tight, rock her so hard
I really should get a prize trophy award.
Sometimes I think through this terrible strife
That I ought to go home and sleep with my wife.
But that is quite impossible to do, you see,
Since my wife is out with a whore, like me.