SOME kind souls nicked our car today. Maybe they hooked it up and towed it away.
Or they broke the door, jumped inside, sparked it up and went for a ride.
When they’d finished their fun and games, they’d dump it or send it up in flames.
It was grandad’s car, but grandad’s gone. It stood to help his memory linger on.
Nana would sit in her window chair, reminiscing as if he were still sitting there.
Obviously, the kind souls didn’t know or care, they saw a lump of scrap, to make money somewhere.
The local papers carry ads, talking of 170 quid, and get that money, someone surely did.
No keys, no logbook, yet still it’s sold. What a scrapyard honesty-tale is told.
The police took the details and were really nice but someone else gave us the useful advice: The price of scrap metal has gone sky high see: so there’s money to be made, quite easily.
Your car goes to the crusher, it’s mashed with ease, within days it’s been shipped across the seas.
Sure, it was old but it was still in use, undeserving of this vile and cowardly abuse.
If you’ve got a car that’s rather old.
Even if it’s locked, [krooklocked] it can be lifted and sold :Kind souls patrol your streets, late night/early morning: so remember this and take heed of its warning.
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