I’ve put you together
Like all the king’s men
And split you asunder
Again and again

It's no small wonder
Your pieces don’t fit
And that prospective owners
Described you as "shit"

There’s a lump in my throat
And a hair in the gate
Met the man at the tip who said
"Not that skip mate!"

I drove away blinking
And blamed it on dust
But I felt I’d betrayed
Your pine-effect trust