We live in separate rooms
Each to their own, fair enough,
We take what we need and when we need it,
Whether it’s a slice of pizza or a slice of affection
And we don’t give back. Democracy.
We walk down the street like morons
Not knowing what to do and where to go
Or whether to escape like Gauguin.
And secretly or openly we discuss escape
Like we discussed the meal last night,
Quick and microwavable.
What will we do
When the only thing we can’t escape
Who’s going to love us and accept us
When we’ve spent our time
And all the beauty, the landscapes, the sunsets,
They won’t make much sense to us,
Just like modern art,
Vision, principles or dignity.
Welcome to London, friends.
We won’t ever talk as I’ve forgotten how to
And we won’t ever feel, no, not really,
As we’ve paid out our feelings daily,
Whored out our emotions for survival,
Given everything in return for something.