Perfect - The The

It’s a chilly English winter,

And solitude is never easy to maintain,

Except when it rains.

So I hang an empty smile beneath my empty eyes,

And go out for a walk.

The wet morning sun reflects off the paving-stones,

While a little dog barks its head off,

In the distance.

CHORUS (x2)

Oh, what a perfect day,

To think about my silly world.

My feet are firmly screwed to the floor.

What is there to fear from such a regular world?

Passing by a cemetery,

I think of all the little hopes and dreams,

That lie lifeless and unfilled beneath the soil.

I see an old man fingering his perishing flesh.

He tells himself he was a good man and did good things.

Amused and confused by life’s little ironies,

He swallows his bottle of distilled damnation.

People turn around with unseeing eyes.