Paper and sticks

Paper and sticks and shovel and match
Why won’t the news of the old world catch
And the fire in a temper start

Once I had a rich boy for myself
I loved his body and his navy blue wealth
And I lived in his purse and his heart

When in our bed I was tossing and turning
All I could see were his brown eyes burning
By the green of a one pound note

I talk to him as I clean the grate
O my dear it’s never too late
To take me away as you whispered and wrote

I had a handsome and well-off boy
I’ll share my money and we’ll run for joy
With a bouncing and silver spooned kid

Sharp and shrill my silly tongue scratches
Words on the air as the fire catches
You never did and he never did.