Chamomile

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Mathew Kerry

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I was panning for gold
In the Yorkshire countryside
I found what I was looking for once or twice
But I lost what I left behind

She was nursing a stout
In a Red Lion somewhere south
Poking holes through coasters with an army knife
Counting all the coppers in her life

A white rose keeling over
By the bathroom sink
My cup runneth over
Yet still I refuse to drink

I am losing all my joy
Like flour through a sieve
I don't really care if it's a girl or a boy
I just want it over with

I keep freckles of gold
In a cool dark place
It's there that I keep her buried by the chamomile
Take cuttings every once in a while

A white rose keeling over
By the bathroom sink
My cup runneth over
Yet still I refuse to drink

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