| A single light burns through the night
|
| In the house across the street
|
| She still wears her wedding dress
|
| And the slippers on her feet
|
| She hung her wedding garland
|
| In her bedroom in the dark
|
| And never thinks of anyone
|
| But the man who lit her spark
|
| He stole her heart in Margate
|
| One summer afternoon
|
| Before he took her virtue
|
| On the hottest day in June
|
| The sand clung to their bodies
|
| Like a scene from Mills and Boon
|
| No matter what the neighbours say
|
| She bears herself with pride
|
| And sheds her tears behind her veil
|
| The broken-hearted bride
|
| She needed no assurance
|
| Just the flicker of his smile
|
| They made plans for the wedding
|
| To do it all in style
|
| There was never any question
|
| Of his promising career
|
| And as he lay beside her
|
| She shed a pregnant tear
|
| He said he taught mathematics
|
| At a college in Dubai
|
| Told her of the genie’s lamp
|
| And a carpet that could fly
|
| She loved his fairy stories
|
| From the land of make believe
|
| And clung to him for comfort
|
| When he said he had to leave
|
| He caught the train that morning
|
| It was overcast and grey
|
| He waved and blew her kisses
|
| There was nothing left to say
|
| He pulled the cord inside his coat
|
| And blew himself away |