We grew up looking under rocks, beds and stands.
We scrutinize the entire world with roughened hands
It’s what they told us about in that story book.
Too busy searching for it – to notice what they took.
Cutting trees down to clear space for a wooden house.
Cooking, cleaning and quarrelling with your spouse.
Digging up the dirt and ground to bury the dead.
Piercing ink to skin to remember what they said.
So as lawns are mowed and letters are posted
Tapping the spoon against the side of a tea cup twice
As bread is bought and furniture is toasted
Growing our gardens without sugar or spice.
Something is wrong, we all feel, but never admit.
We are taught to give up – just as we start to get closer.
It’s when you race to chase after the tailcoats of it
Then there is nothing you find when you turn the corner
Lately I have been bumping into strangers on the road
Craving human contact – craving so much more.
See the sad little things in our sad little lives erode
When did we all learn to cry behind closed doors?
We scrutinize the entire world with roughened hands
It’s what they told us about in that story book.
Too busy searching for it – to notice what they took.
Cutting trees down to clear space for a wooden house.
Cooking, cleaning and quarrelling with your spouse.
Digging up the dirt and ground to bury the dead.
Piercing ink to skin to remember what they said.
So as lawns are mowed and letters are posted
Tapping the spoon against the side of a tea cup twice
As bread is bought and furniture is toasted
Growing our gardens without sugar or spice.
Something is wrong, we all feel, but never admit.
We are taught to give up – just as we start to get closer.
It’s when you race to chase after the tailcoats of it
Then there is nothing you find when you turn the corner
Lately I have been bumping into strangers on the road
Craving human contact – craving so much more.
See the sad little things in our sad little lives erode
When did we all learn to cry behind closed doors?