The curate’s motorbike
Come here,Kathryn,come here quick,
‘Cos your Daddy’s really sick.
Run as fast as fast, you can,
Get the priest, get Father Dan.
Run,run went my eight year old feet,
Down the lane and up the street
I ran right up to Father’s door,
[Does God live there any more?]
“Come please, Mam said Daddy’s ill”
“Oh”,said Father,”that I will.”
Revving up his motor bike
With The Sacrament beside.
He lifted me up onto the back
And roared off up the church side track.
It was the best thrill of my life
If only Daddy had not died.