Granddad Tom, From Fulham, From a long line of Hackney Cabbies, Never drove one.
Grandma died, When I was one. Granddad lived much longer. Got fat and old, With hair whiter than white And face like crumpled paper.
Loved Sunday roasts, And fall-asleep armchairs. Drove a Triumph Herald, Until it passed on.
I lived with him, When I thought I loved Sarah Urwick. She messed up her life, And so did I, But Long before that, Granddad Tom died.
I wondered where he was, Where had he gone, I wanted to say 'goodbye Tom', But before I got home, Men had come, And taken all that remained of Granddad Tom.
