You often buy a ticket,

I always take the piss:

twelve million to one, with odds like that,

how can you miss?


You don’t take any notice,

especially not today:

you say it’s a roll-over, and you’re not going to win

unless you play.


I’m ready to sneer as usual,

but perhaps I’d better not,

when, in the lottery of love, the ticket I bought

won the jackpot.