Even now, even all these years on
I can still taste golden syrup on my tongue
The woozy lights of the bridges
On the water, the broken images
Of broken people wandering through sleep
And you know I hated it, I hated that job at the factory
I hated acting cheerful when the foreman came around
I looked deep in his mouth, it was pitch black
And I can't bring myself to go back
Bread rising in the oven like a ghost
Later to be toast, burning under the grill
Hot apple cider bubbling on the wooden window sill
I am waiting here for someone to take a bite out of my neck
I have become a nervous wreck
And the furniture is made of licorice
Like the little hairs growing on my arm
I can't promise you a good time
I can't promise you a great time
But I doubt you'll come to any harm
Sprinkle sugar over me
I felt like a cold beer in the shade
I didn't feel like watching the parade
I felt like a man not in his rightful time and place
I felt like I wandered into the room too late
And in the ice cream parlour, scooping rum and raisin
I could never get excited about special occasions
But I paid my way, and somehow I am still able to say
I have not murdered anyone
And you remember I enjoyed the anxiety
It went on joylessly, joylessly like the 1990s
But I took a certain comfort in sticking out like a sore thumb
The rivers ran red but nevertheless I felt numb
Sprinkle sugar over me
And the telephone ceaselessly rings
And somewhere someone handsome sings
A song for my specific situation
A song for a man of my station
A song in the key of gee whizz!
You're letters were better than anything I ever read
But there are thoughts that should never be completed making inroads in my head
Like 'only children have to be their own cain
'Only children know my pain'
Sprinkle sugar over me
The ceiling fan will shower us with dust
My tongue is caked with tiger balm
I can't promise you a good time
I can't promise you a great time
But I can offer up a little of my famous charm
And they're smuggling drugs in the dumb waiter
All men fall back on bad ideas sooner or later
In the full heat of summer
The landlord did a runner
I've got nothing to do with last months rent