Thursday, 21 April 2011

The Breaking of the Clock

Yes, I did paint grannie’s washing a nasty glossy green,
I did tear off the loose wallpaper where I thought it unseen
I stole the biscuits from the barrel in the press
And I sold the ragman Dad’s best suit as well as your pink dress,
But I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t break the clock.
No, I had nothing, NOTHING to do with the clock.

Yes, I was in Dad’s study from ten til quarter to,
And I do prance around a lot like a monkey caged in a zoo,
And I haven’t always owned up when you’ve thought it really mattered,
But I didn’t break the clock.
Even if you say I did, I didn’t break the clock.

You’re right, it’d be so ridiculous to blame it on Dad,
He never, ever breaks things, what would we think if he had ?
And Mum didn’t do it and she’d never lie.
She insists she tells the truth so much and I don’t ask why.
But I didn’t break the clock.
Reason, bludgeon, torment, sneer – I didn’t break the clock.

Look, if it makes you happy, I’ll say I threw it down.
May I go to bed now or do I still have to sit around
Until you wring it out of me, just what took me so long
To say that I did it and that you couldn’t possibly be wrong ?
Well, does it really matter ? I’ve said I smashed, bashed, thrashed your stupid clock.
Someone must be happy that I’ve said I broke the clock.