My past is not getting on a bus.
She is not digging a hole to China.
She is not a red balloon
Disappearing inside of a minute
In the sky over a zoo.

My past will not put on
Traditional pilgrim dress.
She will not creep around
On her belly under cover of night

Or be bricked over like the north door
Of an old Sussex church.

If you are climbing a teetering tower
To fetch one of us, then you fetch two
Because the girl in the window
Won't be parted
From her pug ugly sister;
Not for strong arms,
Not for love or money,
Not for the world.