Dorothy

Written by Colin Beveridge and Sam Hartburn. Content note: this song mentions death and is generally very sad. Lyrics: Dorothy died in the arms of a passing pedestrian Who brushed aside the suggestions That she ought to wait for the ambulance crew As if there was much anybody could do It was painfully etched into Dorothy's face That the only prescription was kindness and grace The passer-by slipped into mothering mode Swept off the snow and sat down in the road And she sang a song in a language nobody there knew Simple in melody, simple in rhyme A tune as old as time A song in a language nobody there knew Dorothy died in the cobblestone cold With the coat of a stranger over her shoulder The delicate fabric of Dorothy's dress A desperate, desolate burgundy mess And as she clung on to the thinnest of strands The stranger reached out and took hold of her hand Carefully cradling Dorothy's head "There, my dear, I've got you," she said And she sang a song in a language nobody there knew