Winter Time Blues

 

 

Winter Time Blues

 

Chilblains on my fingers,

Gangrene in my toes,

Snot that turns to icicles

As frost-bite snaps my nose.

 

Layered up in woollen vests

Until I cannot move,

Itching with parasitic pests

I’ve got the winter time blues.

 

I wish I was dog sat by the fire,

Or a thickly fleeced white sheep,

I can’t abide winter attire,

It’s far too cold to sleep.

 

My bits have all gone numb now,

I don’t like to complain,

Alas I cannot help but groan a bit

I’m in severe pain.

 

There’s bits of me are burning

And other parts that chaff,

I’d like to swap my stockings

But the air flow isn’t safe.

 

So I’ll sit here until spring-time

And hope that I don’t die

I’ll fill myself with tomato soup

And bread that’s made of rye.

 

Perhaps I’ll come out good as new

But this I fear is true,

When I finally shed these garments

I think my skin will come off too.

 

I’m sorry if you’re sickened

By my tale of woe

Perhaps you’ll send me a few quid

So to Australia I could go.

 

And if you do, I promise

You won’t hear from me anew

Cos I’ll be warm and cosy

With no need for boiling stew.