by Harvey Andrews

Martha sits by the telephone,
hoping someone will call, she's on her own again,
She has so much she can talk about,
and there'll be gossip she can hawk about again…

Did you stumble home [bad word] and loud
to an empty room with no one waiting there,
is your life a black and broken cloud,
then Martha will feed upon your despair.

See the curtain move, she watches you,
listening through the broken walls and rotting floors,
don't make a slip, Martha catches you,
hiding on landings, and peering round the doors…

Did you enjoy yourself and laugh and sing,
then Martha will disapprove and shake her head,
no matter what the day ahead will bring,
Martha will circulate each word you said.

Like the vulture Martha hovers high,
waiting to pounce upon your shattered dreams,
 her twisted smile and her nodding head,
disguise her haggard world of lies and schemes…

Who was it took a young girls heart,
and branded it, and burned her mind,
who was it tore her life apart,
and left it for the rats to find…

Martha sits by the telephone,
hoping someone will call, she's on her own again,
She has so much she can talk about,
and there'll be gossip she can hawk about again…