She Knows Not What To Do
She knows not what to do.
Without me she is nothing.
And I think she knows that.
That is what scares her so.
She is too proud.
She knows not what to do.
And she treats me like dirt.
I can't complain.
I get a roof over my head.
Food on the table.
She knows not what to do.
I make a suggestion.
If I'm right, then in her mind I'm wrong.
Since I'm wrong, I'm ignored.
If I'm wrong, then she voices that, loud and strong.
She knows not what to do.
In here eyes I'm not even there.
And when I am, I am just a tool.
"Go get this," and "go get that."
"Turn on this" and "turn off that".
She knows not what to do.
I try to get her to, no, make her see her ways.
I will tell her, "What happens when I'm gone, What will you do then?"
She looks at me puzzled, a confused look on her face.
She says nothing, but I know she is thinking,
I know not what I'll do.'