Jeremiah Jones

Have you seen Jeremiah Jones?
He’s filled with rags and has no bones.
No one ever hears his moans.
Old Jeremiah Jones.

But when you’re in bed and fast asleep,
And Jeremiah Jones is in a heap,
Where you threw him on the floor,
In the corner by the door,
Doesn’t it occur to you
That Jeremiah Jones once had dreams too?
Dreams of sitting in a chair
And knowing that you know he’s there.
Dreams of being loved and treasured,
And all those things by which we’re measured.
Each night he’ll watch you close your eyes,
Knowing you won’t hear his sighs.
The sighs of one who feels neglected
It wasn’t something he expected.
He can’t afford to feel things too.
Not when cared for by the likes of you.
And all alone he will remain,
With just his memories and the pain
Of knowing that he once was loved,
And hugged and kissed.
Now kicked and shoved.
But no-one knows and no-one cares,
That JJs been ignored for years,
And years and years and years.

Have you seen Jeremiah Jones?
He’s filled with rags and has no bones.
No one ever hears his moans.
Poor Jeremiah Jones.