Every evening at quarter past ten
Mrs Magee said “Goodnight” to her only friend.
He was clean cut and polite,
always winked at her before he said “Goodnight”.
She was eighty-three and lonely.
He read the late night news on TV.
Now as he waits like Theseus father on the shore
for the white sail of a key turned in the door
the wedding ring of telephone is too far to answer.
Mrs Magee assumes he's not home.
She was eighty-three and lonely.
He read the late night news on TV.
Ain't it strange how we change with our age?
Sitting here wrinkled and grey
like the girl in the nightclub with the hare lip
that nobody wants to kiss.
Mrs Magee took her unrequited love
and moved to the house of the lord up above.
If more than just strangers had been in the pews
Mrs Magee might have made the late news.
She was eighty-three and lonely.
He read the late night news on TV.
Rocking chair, high chair, whose chair, my chair.
Hare lips and loose lips and loose lips they sink ships.
Eighty-three and lonely Mrs Magee.
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