Closer 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 ageing 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 ghost - a 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.