THE WEASEL

THE WEASEL

THE WEASEL

That’s the way the money goes . . . Trad.


Up and down the London Road
blinder by the hour
     I spent as much
     again as we owed
white winter flowers
 
Crowds and crowds like fallen leaves
blown between the towers
     you came in
     with the cold up your sleeves
white winter flowers
 
Screams and shouts and broken things
now you’re fired and cower
     under the sheets
     when the postman brings
white winter flowers
 
Who’d have dreamt a little twist
could turn your sweet breath sour
     I tasted this
     when we first kissed
white winter flowers
 
For your whole heart is half my heart
my heart is half of yours
     so we’re neither complete
     and lie drunk in the street
white winter flowers