Curly red hair and fond of knee-high boots
She hated those legs.
That's how I remember her,
Something else too.
Appointed by the court,
The poor girl did her best to help me and
Even though she failed miserably
We became an item
Her life had been worse than mine
Self-esteem pilfered by
I wondered how she kept going,
I would ask:
"In that state how the hell can you help anyone in trouble?"
Then she would cry again
She could'nt help herself.
You can enquire what I did to help but
I had problems of my own
Barley-wine was her tipple.
She nearly turned me into an alcoholic before
They caught her in an off-license taking six bottles when
A displinary panel put paid to her career.
The last I heard she was sleeping rough.
She left her mark on me as
Currently on parole again
I've never quite dried out