When the kettle
Has finished and boiled
And the Sunday eggs
Have been spoiled,

When the man who begs
Dissolves into the street
And the magpies
Squeak their last tweet,

Will they still need me
And will they still see me?

When the young boys  
Have been found dead  
And the obituaries
Have been read,

When all the red berries
Have sunk and wilted
And the groom
Has succumbed and jilted,

Will I find the end
And will I be whole again ?