The boy Harry was the brightest thing
You’d ever hope to see
May looked young enough
To be his baby sister on the beach
He was Ptolemy’s Earth to her
For a while they knew how it might be
To conquer all the world
Then they grew old
Growing tired and tongue-tied
He stopped coming home
She had no-one to call her own
She waited for a moment
Their first baby only fell asleep
Under the moving trees
He was Ptolemy’s Earth to her
Harry gave her too many faces
Too many dark places
She gave him a boy that was his
And a boy that was not his
Weary now and wearing out
They tore each other’s heart out
They ripped each other apart
Say he’d waited there for a moment
Then pushed him back to the sea
They sold up and moved on
Sunday morning father
Made of stone
