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

Aah aah aaahh

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

Aah aah aaah