An old deflated football
where the lonely magpie sits,
singing melodies of memories,
of a trampoline and a stolen kiss.

When I couldn't tell the difference
from your smiling eyes of green,
if underneath you were reptile,
or just plain naive.

But with my pocket full of dust caps
it doesn't matter much at all,
run away, take chase,
shoelace slapping against the wall.

And if our little fingers are strong enough
to make a promise that will last,
i'll keep this magpie singing,
until our cigarettes have turned to ash.