Everything Is Going To Be Alright

There's the morning clatter of bottles in the wheelie bin
Super Sunday, beers on the terrace
Accumulators, fantasy football league
As I stare blankly at the jukebox
There's a yawn of a distant barbecue
Somewhere amongst the lawnmower's home
Shuts the birds out

Maybe a takeaway in a bit
Or perhaps just stay and sit
Keep going 'til I'm all alone at the bar
And who knows, could be a local here?
The others are older, stinking of proper man's beer
So there's a while before they get sick of me

They won't know I never went to flute machine school
Fuck knows if I stick or spin, I punch the buttons with dread
And wish there was a quiz machine instead
A sudden flounce to the toilet
Violet vomit caught in the floor, a disintegrated roll
No lock on the door
So it's out the emergency exit
To give the suburban dance floor a treat

Low battery, wet feet
Onto my road
Feigning a solar walk
That boring neighbour who likes to talk
Lets his fat dog shit on the pavement
He gets a friendly nod
As I tiptoe wildly
Silently picking my lock with its key
Expertly twisting the handle with that giveaway groan

An embassy CG
As I remember which floorboards creak
A lonely drunken antique
Then fallen asleep in the dog bed
Warm, cosy
Looked for an hour until the sun once again rears its head

And I can still see that bronze Zeus in the carvery
Yelling at everything, bulging veins
Hating the all-you-can-eat buffet and the lack of Hollandaise
And behind him, a face on the muted TV screen
Silently screaming away
And I repeat to myself
"Everything is gonna be alright
Everything is gonna be alright
Everything is gonna be alright"