| The Hairy Years |
|---|
| I lingered within earshot of the seaside souvenier shopfront |
| (Itchy fingers sweating on a snoscene, little puppy eyes dart) |
| A tiny world is ending, detective is descending |
| (All the savings gone on bloody day one, little butterflies start) |
| Here began my hairy years |
| Set me down on a country lane myself |
| Drinking myself lame |
| Call, collect and gather me, take me intravenously |
| Or I’ll just prowl the hills |
| It’s hares and hunts, you scour the country |
| We are not Jack and Jill |
| Why do you tumble after me? |
