Paddy's grave or:

how false memories made Liverpool my home
If I was a really young mother, you know
Paddy could 'av been my son
me Paddy, me littlun
he'd be old enough now to
fetch me some milk from the shop, Paddy
but don't stay out all day luv
and we'd live near where he lives now, you know
off Smithdown, Alderson Road maybe
Paddy would be in school I'm pretty sure
and if he'd bring his mates round, Jay or Ben
you know I wouldn't mind
he'd have friends you know, he would
and maybe they'd play football
and he'd support Liverpool or Everton,
I wouldnt mind you know
me Paddy, me darlin - he wouldnt like me to call him that
but I wouldnt mind
he'd be happy, Paddy, and he'd grow up
and in 60 years, roughly, maybe,
he'd go and cry a lil bit by me headstone
on the cemetary on Smithdown Road
I'd want that bit of green opposite that big tree
he wouldnt know why, you know
but I wouldnt mind

I dont know what happened there to Paddy,
that Paddy that could have been me son,
my Paddy, if I was a really young mother,
I would 'av luved him, I know I would
someone must have loved him, I know they did
I wonder what happened?
Well, he'll always be here, in this city
and I'll go and see him
from time to time, as long as I remember
and when I forget there'll still be a wooden cross
split in half, saying
nothing else
the rest is forgotten

By Johanna Hillebrand