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 space - 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.
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