All my life, I wore a tuxedo.
All my life, I was dressed elegantly.
But never for the reason I wanted to be.
I married Emma, the maid,
And we both worked,
Hoping to finally be free of this occupation
And finally being able to wear fine clothing,
And not because we were mere housekeepers.
One day, I heard ragged coughing,
While dusting a portrait of the master.
I dashed up the stairs,
To find Emma choking on dust.
I died right then and there,
Of a broken heart.