Visions of match stick girl

New Years Eve came in the dark, on the cobbled stone street On frigid snow and bitter cold, on the little shoeless, hatless girl Visions of the match stick girl came through Her name was Mary; lost like a little lamb in fog and ice London has that effect on fragile things in England winters She lost her parents too and oversized slippers there The ones her mum once wore and gave to her with such care Mother, father and slippers gone in an instance in the snow Rolled over by two speeding carriages that killed them cold She sells her match sticks by the River Ripper Signs read, No guns or knives permitted about the wharf