Closer than close
you see yourself -
A mirrored image
of what you wanted to be.
As each day goes by
a little more
You can't remember
what it was you wanted anyway.
The fingers feel the lines
they prod the s***e -
Your ageing face
the face that once was so beautiful,
is still there but unrecognizable
Private Hell.
The man who you once loved
is bald and fat -
And seldom in
working late as usual.
Your interest has waned
you feel the strain -
The bed springs snap
on the occasions he lies upon you -
close your eyes and think of nothing but -
Private Hell.
Think of Emma
wonder what she's doing -
Her husband Terry
and your grandchildren.
Think of Edward
who's still at college -
You send him letters
which he doesn't acknowledge.
'Cause he don't care,
They don't care.
'Cause they're all going through their own
Private Hell.
The morning slips away
in a valium haze,
And catalogues
and numerous cups of coffee.
In the afternoon
the weekly food,
Is put in bags
as you float off down the high street
The shop windows reflect
play a nameless host,
To a closet ghost
a picture of your fantasy -
A victim of your misery
and Private Hell
Alone at 6 o'clock
you drop a cup -
You see it smash
inside you crack -
You can't go on
but you sweep it up -
Safe at last inside your Private Hell.
Sanity at last inside your Private Hell.
you see yourself -
A mirrored image
of what you wanted to be.
As each day goes by
a little more
You can't remember
what it was you wanted anyway.
The fingers feel the lines
they prod the s***e -
Your ageing face
the face that once was so beautiful,
is still there but unrecognizable
Private Hell.
The man who you once loved
is bald and fat -
And seldom in
working late as usual.
Your interest has waned
you feel the strain -
The bed springs snap
on the occasions he lies upon you -
close your eyes and think of nothing but -
Private Hell.
Think of Emma
wonder what she's doing -
Her husband Terry
and your grandchildren.
Think of Edward
who's still at college -
You send him letters
which he doesn't acknowledge.
'Cause he don't care,
They don't care.
'Cause they're all going through their own
Private Hell.
The morning slips away
in a valium haze,
And catalogues
and numerous cups of coffee.
In the afternoon
the weekly food,
Is put in bags
as you float off down the high street
The shop windows reflect
play a nameless host,
To a closet ghost
a picture of your fantasy -
A victim of your misery
and Private Hell
Alone at 6 o'clock
you drop a cup -
You see it smash
inside you crack -
You can't go on
but you sweep it up -
Safe at last inside your Private Hell.
Sanity at last inside your Private Hell.