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