Lost

Picture this 2.30
on the hottest night in June
He awakes for no reason
and checks his watch by the moon
And his mouth feels as dry as
his eyes as he struggles to rise
And stops to contemplate
his wife’s thighs as he does up his flies
He finds his slippers
where he left them under the chair
behind the 2 cups
and an old copy of marie claire
He switches the on the coffee machine
that of course works like a dream
catches sight of his reflection
in the silver surface sheen
And It’s a face he knows well
although it should look less abused
With all these moisturisers
and the skin products he’s used
As he moves through the kitchen'
his homage to brushed steel
Across the new pine flooring
that’s plastic but looks real
Past the plasma with the widescreen
and the cinema surround sound
And he stops on his favourite
spot by the window and looks down
On the orange lit street
at the edge of the private car park
Where his Audi TT is waiting safely in the dark

Keeping it all inside of you

Something will have to give

And if you could you’ll take it back
But you lose your way in the way you live

Now he can hear wind chimes
tinkling out on the balcony
And his phone beeping out a text message
in the same key
He checks it and it’s Jill
who used to be his secretary
Before they started an affair
and things began to get really scary

Now his wife Mary is getting weary of his lies
Like she’s read the whole
sordid story in his eyes
It doesn’t help that
Jill’s now saying that she’s 2 weeks late
His mental state is really
starting to deteriorate
He never knew how he got so out of his depth
Or why he’s broken more than
all these promises kept
And it’s been ages since he slept
Properly' his sleeps now broken
by these dreams of extra-marital activity
Trying to recapture the rapture
that he used to get from his material possessions
And endless retail therapy sessions
Shoulda listened to what his dad said before he died
The best things in life
are the ones you can’t buy son
Keeping it all inside of you

Something will have to give

Wish you could buy a ticket back

But you lose your way in the way you live

He used to feel so safe up here
in his shrine to Ikea
Away from the shouts and the louts
and the girls with the over-painted pouts
And the queers and the dykes
and the kids in their box-fresh Nikes
Delivering rocks to the house
across the street on rusty mountain bikes

Aah aah

He used to feel so safe up here
in his shrine to Ikea
Away from the shouts and the louts
and the girls with the over-painted pouts
And the queers and the dykes
and the kids in their box-fresh Nikes
Delivering rocks to the house
across the street on rusty mountain bikes

Aah aah