Tea cosy on her head,
Teabags beneath her eyes,
Let em brew, until death is nigh
Tannin skin, tie dyed the fading light.
Must be some kind of madness, right?
To dress in mouldy tweed coats, giant jumpers
And baggy trousers that swamp yer height?
That’s like, I dunno…
Throwing yourself into a crocodile’s bite.
So I don’t wanna see no crocodile tears, give em a wipe
Give em a swipe, grin with your teeth,
The gum hangs underneath, mouth agape,
Ticker tape teeth all over the place.
It’s a state caused by not
Bothering to brush enough; cuffs turned up
It’s dat grab, spin and roll
Walking boot trainers, all grip and no soul,
Just enough salt for the sole to handle the cold.
That little Buddha grin begins to take hold
And tributaries start flowing in skin papery and old,
Crunchy brown paper bags screwed up in a ball,
Fold her clothes to forgo the wrinkles,
Then wrangle a wink when you try to mingle,
With the singles; singling her out should have been so simple,
Like spinning a pinball or popping a pimple.
Queen bee shuffling along not dragging her feet,
Bluffing along cos I guess when you’re old,
Dragging your feet amounts to defeat
And just getting around is actually quite a feat.
Cos now she’s falling asleep…
Drifting off…
Dozing but knows when
The platform’s approaching.
Eyes might be closing
They’ll snap back right open when the doors start to open.
Well, at least that’s what I’m hoping.