He’s wearing the breeches that father bequeathed him
Grandfather’s jacket still stained from the war
Schoolmaster’s hat and mother’s familiar
And thousands of souvenirs kept from before
Still wearing the bruises of coppers and robbers
Ring of the bishop on loving his thumb
Once-bitten apple of jealous dispassion
Twice-eaten hopes with the crust and the crumb

She carries a gramophone and plays the same records
Family choir playing truth equals pain
Compulsively buying the devil’s selection
Of sugar-gilt nothing again and again
Children come follow in grandfather’s footsteps
Lace on her fears and her man-of-war stare
Mapping the course with the hard-learned lesson
Magistrate’s customer, and the three bear

Mr and Mrs I know it’s sore
With the daily pitchfork and the martial law
Old chat, young nervous, sweetness heart
Working together to make this world
Out of the pain of sweet gone sour
I’m going to the beautiful country, don’t you want to come?

I’m caring for the break in my telephone line
And people are buzzing me most of the time
I’m dialling your eye
I wait for my reply
I’m here
Now I’m on my way
O Mr and Mrs
Too many haters in this house
You’re in despair
I understand your acceptedness
From the tears in your eyes
You know I won’t leave till you come too.