Anvil eyed my Father glanced at me "dress me well for Karen he said". He drew his breaths like a 'Davy lamp' As I brushed his hair with still hands. This man would leave for work golden And return a shadow who left my lips black reading me Whitman as I slept and living poetry each day I woke. My Father was Sicilian The miners called him Brando My Mother called him Darling And I just called for him And he'd always return to me With something carved from coal. He had no last words for me Just a smile and a squeeze of my hand And then he was twenty three again In a Daimler with Karen Driving to Loch Lomond With forty two shillings Two smiles and two rings And her Fathers wrath.