Up In The Loft

Sometimes I cook up boloney
Sometimes I strip the bone
Sometimes I get lonely
Sometimes I can phone
Sometimes there’s nothing I can do at all
You can catch me on the stairs
I’ll be up and down untill I buckle and fall

I wish I could talk to you now
I wish you’d talk to me
I wish I could walk to you how
We’ve built a wall I cannot see anything
That I can do or say or change at all
You can count it if you’re counting
You can hit and kick and throw and have a ball

It’s a wierd place to find yourself
Sitting in your head
It’s that feared place you rarely show yourself
Up in the loft where the memories weigh like lead

Sometimes I find the funeral
Sometimes I dig the grave
Sometimes I find a cure-all
That does nothing to save me
Sometimes there’s everything to play for
But I don’t hear the call
You can catch me in the quick-sand struggling
Trying to scratch and claw and crawl

(chorus)

Memories good and bad