‘Sometimes it’s just those little things
That brings us to a place
We haven’t seen or heard about
An old familiar face
A statue with a broken head
That fell down to the floor
The night my father came home drunk
And fell in through the door

Singing to my mother
While down on bended knee
She laughed out loud
And held his hand
The way they used to be

He knocked the Kitchen Dresser
While lighting up a smoke
The statue took a tumble
And on the floor it broke

They laughed together loud and free
A moment without care
The poor old Saint without a head
Lay on the floorboards there

This little broken statue
I found in Da’s old shed
“I’ll leave it for a while… ” he thought
“I’ll have to glue his head”

Like bent old nails and rusty screws
With intentions of the best
The poor old Saint was never fixed
He just joined all the rest

Sometimes it’s just those little things
That remind me of my Da’
The love he showed to each of us
And his best pal
My oul Ma’…’