Colin F. Jones

MOLLY

Why is he not there with his wife and his kids
On the photos and pictures and frying pan lids?
Why are there no boots beside the back door,
No socks and no T-shirts strewn on the floor?

Where did the man go who lives in this house
And sadly dictated by a self-centred spouse?
In the back shed he cringes in the grime and the stain,
Finally conquered by the constant refrain

Oh! Oh! Time is his foe
He had all the say a few years ago
Oh! Oh! Well ain’t it a shame
Molly is home and at it again

Well he thought he was boss when short of a quid[1]
‘Cause he worked like a horse to put in his bid.
He blistered his palms to buy them a house
That never quite suited his unsatisfied spouse.

The older he grew the weaker he got;
If his dog were as bad he’d have the thing shot.
He slowly submitted to all the abuse,
“I don’t care any more, what the hell is the use”

Oh! Oh! Time is his foe
He had all the say a few years ago
Oh! Oh! Well ain’t it a shame
Molly is home and at it again

Now he lies in a grave growing over with grass
A forgotten old slave of the horrible past
He won’t go to heaven; we all know that
‘Cause he was eleven when he went out to bat

Old Molly she’s happy she’s left with the lot
She got what she wanted and he got a plot.
Her daughters and grandkids, no photos of him
To encourage the grandson to perpetually sin

Oh! Oh! Time was his foe
He had all the say a few years ago
Oh! Oh! Well ain’t it a shame
Molly is home and at it again

The shed in the garden is crumpling now:
The spiders and roaches surviving somehow.
If you look in the corner you’ll still see the stains
Where the marks of his tears are his only remains

Oh! Oh! Time was his foe
He had all the say a few years ago
Oh! Oh! Well what a refrain
Molly is home and never complains