She sits in the sunlight each morning And waits for her memory to fade If she tells you she's got a messiah It's one that she's already made She's no longer taking shortcuts In her village of Rome And nobody's home By the time that the summer is over She's nowhere to be seen She smiles and looks slightly frightened As you walk past she wants to cry The daffodils bloom in the garden Her head is buttered and fried On a good day the great was seen clearly On a bad she's hardly aware And waits for the reaper to bear Her doormat is left propped up Since Wednesday when they came to clean Her apartment has been re-vacated Perhaps she is now in a home Or perhaps she is just bone Or perhaps she is just bone Or perhaps she is just bone Just bone Just bone Just bone Just bone
