You rode a razor-bladed, wooden sledge through the snow
And I, sitting on my mum's tea-tray, asked,
"Won't you give us a go?"
And you said, "No!
Your tea-tray may not be fast, Michael,
but it's what you've got; and that's your lot"
Please, Annabelle, all I want is one ride
Please, Anabelle, I can't stand the way you deride
Stop jeering; stop sneering
or I'll rip out your earrings,
I'll push you down in the snow,
I'll pull your hair out by your pretty bow
Please, Annabelle, stop singing:
"Poor Michael Valentine
Has no friends and two black eyes,
Has no dad and always cries
Poor Michael Valentine"
But Annabelle wouldn't stop singing;
My red ears were ringing,
My cracked lips were stinging
So I threw a tree-branch on the hillside
As Annabelle began to slide
And then she stopped singing
I don't even know if she tried to swerve
I ran straight home with my tea-tray under my arm
Because my mum had tea to serve
But as I got to the entrance of the tenement
I heard the cadenced, echoed remnants
of Annabelle's sledge
Painting the snow red
And I sang:
"Poor Annabelle Munroe,
Lost her fingers in the snow
Flipped her sledge and slit her throat
Poor Annabelle Munroe"