Itchy and scratchy with threads coming loose
Burgundy sunset woven into the sleeve
It once was your mother\'s and now it is his
To do whatever he pleases it seems
He doesn\'t want to wear it anymore
It looks ugly on him
Clashes with his personality and fair fair skin
So he tries to sell it off in an auction of barn
But no one want\'s the hand me down
It\'s too fragile and broken
So he leaves it on the street
Where old sweaters should be
Tied up on the lamppost for everyone to see
It\'s broken label
And it\'s poor old sowing
Come undone in the rain and break even more so
Why have I become I sweater?
Does no body love cotton and polyester?
I was brought to life with care and love
Except now no body cares what I was made from.