Close or that close, you'll 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 raging face,
the face that once was so beautiful
Is still there but unrecognizable
Drive in hell, drive in hell
The man who you once
loved is bald and fat
And seldom in,
working late as usual
You're interested, Wayne,
you feel the strain
But a bedspread's slack,
on the occasion she lies upon you
Close your eyes and think of nothing
but private hell, private hell
Think of Emma,
what she's doing,
her husband Terry and
your grandchildren
Think of Edward,
who's still at college
She'd send him letters that
she doesn't acknowledge
He don't care, they don't care
Cause they're all going
through their own
Private hell, private hell
The morning slips away in a valley of haze
A cat to launch, a numerous cup 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 help
Private help
Think of Emma, wonder what she's doing
Her husband Terry and
your grandchildren
Think of Edward who's still at college
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, Private Hell
Alone at six o 'clock, you drop a cup
You see it smash inside your clock
You can't go on but you're
sweeping up
Sick and lashed inside your Private Hell
Sanity and lust inside your Private Hell
San ity and lust inside
your Private Hell
Private Hell
Private Hell
Private Hell