Private Hell (Live At Wembley Arena, UK / 1982)

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