Текст песни jam - Private Hell, слова песни jam

Текст песни jam - Private Hell

jam - Private Hell слова песни

Private Hell - Paul WellerCloser than close - you see yourself -A mirrored image - of what you wanted to be.As each day goes by - a little more -You can`t remember - what it was you wanted anyway.The fingers feel the lines - they prod the space -Your aging face - the face that once was so beautiful, is still there but unrecognizable - Private Hell.The man who you once loved - is bald and fat -And seldom in - working late as usual.Your interest has waned - you feel the strain -The bed springs snap - on the occasions he lies upon you - close your eyes and think of nothing but - Private Hell.Think of Emma - wonder what she`s doing -Her husband Terry - and your grandchildren.Think of Edward - who`s still at college -You send him letters - which he doesn`t acknowledge.`Cause he don`t care,They don`t care.`Cause they`re all going through their own - Private Hell.The morning slips away - in a valium haze -And catalogues - and numerous cups of coffee.In the afternoon - the weekly food -Is put in bags - as you float off down the high street.The shop windows reflect - play a nameless host to a closet ghostA picture of your fantasy - A victim of your misery and - Private Hell.Alone at 6 o`clock - you drop a cup -You see it smash - inside you crack -You can`t go on - but you sweep it up -Safe at last inside your Private Hell.Sanity at last inside your Private Hell.SATURDAYS KIDS - Paul WellerSaturdays boys live life with insults,Drink lots of beer and wait for half time results,Afternoon tea in the lite-a-bite - chat up the girls - they dig it!Saturdays girls work in Tesco`s and Woolworths,Wear cheap perfume `cause its all they can afford,Go to discos - they drink Babycham - talk to Jan - in bingo accents.Saturdays kids play one arm bandits,they never win but that`s not the point is it?Dip in silver paper when their pints go flat,How about that - far out!Their mums and dads smoke Capstan non filters,Wallpaper lives `cause they all die of cancer,What goes on - what goes wrong.Save up their money for a holiday,To Selsey Bill or Bracklesham Bay,Think about the future - when they`ll settle down,Marry the girl next door - with one on the way.These are the real creatures that time has forgot,Not given a thought - its the system -Hate the system - what`s the system?Saturdays kids live in council houses,Wear v-necked shirts and baggy trousers,Drive Cortinas - fur trimmed dash boards,Stains on the seats - in the back, of course!THE ETON RIFLES - Paul WellerSup up your beer and collect your fags,There`s a row going on down near Slough,Get out your mat and pray to the West,I`ll get out mine and pray for myself.Thought you were smart when you took them on,But you didn`t take a peep in their artillery room,All that rugby puts hairs on your chest,What chance have you got against a tie and a crest.Hello-Hurray - what a nice day - for the Eton RiflesHello-Hurray - I hope rain stops play - with the Eton Rifles.Thought you were clever when you lit the fuse,Tore down the House of Commons in your brand new shoes,Composed a revolutionary symphony,Then went to bed with a charming young thing.Hello-Hurray - cheers then mate - its the Eton RiflesHello-Hurray - an extremist scrape - with the Eton Rifles.What a catalyst you turned out to be,Loaded the guns then you run on home for your tea.Left me standing - like a guilty schoolboy.We came out of it naturally the worst,Beaten and bloody and I was sick down my shirt,We were no match for their untamed wit,Though some of the lads said they`ll be back next week.Hello-Hurray - there`s a price to pay - to the Eton RiflesHello-Hurray - I`d prefer the plague - to the Eton Rifles (repeat)PRECIOUS - Paul WellerYour precious love - that means so muchwill it ever stop - or will I just lose touchWhat I want to say - but my words just failIs that I need it so - I can`t help myselfLike a hungry child - I just help myselfAnd when I`m full up - I go out to playBut I don`t mean to bleed you dryOr take you over for the rest of your lifeIt`s just that I need something solid in mineLonely as the moors on a winter`s morningQuiet as the sea on a cool calm nightIn your tranquil shadow - I try and followI hear your distant show clicksTo the midnight beat -I feel trapped in sorrowIn this imageryBut that`s how I am and why I need you so

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Private Hell

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