When I arrived here,
They gave me toys to play with,
One or two at first, little ones,
Easy on the lips and tongue.

By repetition I made the toys my own
And stored then in my boxes.
Like Lego they fitted together,
Not always in the proper form.
But each had a color of its own,
Each had a different shape or smell,
It was difficult to tell.

Some of my toys, I know now
Came from the beginning of time,
Others were a gurgle or a funny sound.
But each had a power of its own.

"Who said that naughty word?"
The vicar's wife screamed, rushing across the lawn.
"We were hitting shuttlecocks," I said.
"I did not know it was naughty word
Until you told me so."

Country matters pricked my mind
And left my childhood far behind.

These toys you give us
Make us weep,
Can fill the world with pain
Like swords and knives
And daggers wise
Plunged deep into the brain.

"My toys are mine!"
I said with glee
"I'll keep them till I die.
They are the only ones that keep me free
Before I say goodbye."