Nobody Hears
Cunningham Rosalie
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Under a mistletoe wreath
He lies curled up beneath The Sunday Times
A man nevertheless
A heart beats in his chest
But we've no time for his kind
Head down, keeping hopes up
His hand holding a cup for petty change
The lady in the fur
Dripping diamonds and pearls
Throws at his feet a torn up receipt
(As if it was kindling for his)
Open casket shopping basket pyre
(As if it was kindling for his)
(As if it was kindling for his)
Cardboard flowers cry with raindrop tears
But nobody hears
Back when his dear mother died
Their home, with dutiful pride, he kept just so
But one thing wasn't right
The great mountain of white things he ignored
Piled high by the door
The weeks went by and the Letterbox did cry, "Oh I can't eat anymore!"
When men burst in, even over the din
He thought that he heard the avalanche
Of envelopes laugh
Hahahaha
(As if it was kindling for his)
Open casket shopping basket pyre
(As if it was kindling for his)
(As if it was kindling for his)
Cardboard flowers cry with raindrop tears
But nobody hears
And nobody hears
But nobody hears
And nobody hears
But nobody hears
And nobody hears
But nobody hears
But nobody hears