The Table

Still feeling just a bit put out that you could sell me on
After all I've meant to you, or did I get it wrong?
I thought you loved my varied wood, my squares of fine veneer
The lengths I went to literally to bring your guests good cheer

The chairs have all agreed with me, you've been the nicest man
Until you'd had enough of us and packed us in your van
So now I grace the Edmond's house, (upgraded it more like)
They stand there just admiring me, so you can take a hike

The piano's been a real friend, I love to hear it played,
I'll look out at the garden, as my memories of you fade
Are you feeling guilty yet?, I've laid it on quite thick
If you do, it serves you right, that was a rotton trick

So here I am and here to stay, I hope I'll be of use
Although I think I'm more at risk of suffering from abuse
Whoever comes to dinner here, I'll do my best to be
The poshest table, so they'll be consumed with jealousy

I hope you think of me sometimes when looking at the place
That once was in your dining room, and now there is a space
I hope the decorating goes without a single hitch
I hope that on remembering me you feel a guilty itch

(Written after Terry sold us his table and chairs, but we couldn't help noticing a slight feeling of wistfulness, so I thought I'd rub it in )