Winifred Is Dead Video (MV)

Winifred is dead!
They said.
Winifred is dead!
The last thing she did
Was sleep well;
'Sleeping well,' it read,
On the three a.m. check.
It wasn't until eight,
When Molly went to
Shake her awake,
And she couldn't,
That they realised
Winifred had died.

Winifred is dead
Oh, Winifred is dead,
She's passed away,
Taken her last breath,
She's met her maker,
Her creator,
She took the ride
To the other side

Winifred has died.

Winifred

Is dead

Let us not spread alarm,
But keep quite calm,
Quietly say
That Winifred
Passed away,
Last night,
In her sleep,
Without a shudder,
Moan
Or peep.
Document the time and place,
The name of the last one
Who saw her face;
The doctor who declared,
With consummate skill and
Seasoned flare,
That she was now no more
Than a shake of his head.

Just dead.

Winifred is dead
Oh, Winifred is dead,
She's passed away,
Taken her last breath,
She's met her maker,
Her creator,
She took the ride
To the other side

Winifred has died.

Winifred

Is dead

Lay her out,
One last wash,
A comb of the hair,
Quick change of underwear;
Stand aside,
Just beyond the door,
While relatives bleed by,
Fumbling through draws,
Wondering why
There isn't more
To take away
From this gilded cage.
And, secretly, though they deny,
There are magpie thoughts
Of the inheritance,
Slowly mined,
By Winifred's leisurely decline.

Winifred is dead
Oh, Winifred is dead,
She's passed away,
Taken her last breath,
She's met her maker,
Her creator,
She took the ride
To the other side

Winifred has died.

Winifred

Is dead

With two plastic bags,
They take the remnants away,
Noted down by the nurse,
On paper that came
From some cheap stationery place,
We'd better make a note
In case
They come back
To make a claim
For a non-existent
Gold rope-chain.

Winifred is dead
Oh, Winifred is dead,
She's passed away,
Taken her last breath,
She's met her maker,
Her creator,
She took the ride
To the other side

Winifred has died.

Winifred

Is dead

Here,
In black block stone,
Is all she had
Left to show:
Some slippers,
Some slacks,
Scuffed old shoes,
An open pack
Of corn plasters,
A cardigan, some blouses,
A paperback about
Mining disasters,
Some tights,
Some Horlicks light,
(Didn't you know
She loved that at night?)
Spare glasses,
Spare teeth,
Some used lipstick,
A handkerchief,
A black and white picture
Of some girls and boys
And one pound fifty
In assorted coins.

The Co-op
Will make a stop
To pop
Her in the boot,
Like stolen loot,
And take her quietly away.

It would soon become known,
Around the home,
Just by a glance
At the empty throne,
That the queen was dead,
That a vacancy has arisen
For her still-warm bed;
Her chair at table,
Now unoccupied,
Her adapted fork and knife
As vacant as her seat,
Waiting to enable
Some other feeble set of hands
To eat.

Winifred is dead
Oh, Winifred is dead,
She's passed away,
Taken her last breath,
She's met her maker,
Her creator,
She took the ride
To the other side

Winifred has died.

Winifred

Is dead

In a couple of weeks
Someone will see her ghost
Glide along the halls,
At exactly the moment that she went
(Somewhere between three and eight, they guess).
She will have joined the floating hoards
Whose names are absorbed
By the peeling paint
And dirty dado rails
That line the walls
As she once did.

Winifred thrives no more.

Winifred is dead
Oh, Winifred is dead,
She's passed away,
Taken her last breath,
She's met her maker,
Her creator,
She took the ride
To the other side

Winifred has died.

Winifred

Is dead


Winifred

Is dead