She works
every morning in the greasy cafeteria,
She makes little pastries and stuffs them with cheese.
The coffee burns her knuckles,
Every time she spills it.
She’s alone, she’s bereft.
When he moved to Hackney in 1990,
He bought in little trinkets but she turned him down.
She can’t sleep no more,
She can’t sleep no more,
Since he’s gone.
She wrote clumsy poetry,
She let him read it.
He told her it was perfect,
But she scrunched her nose.
She can’t sleep no more,
She can’t sleep no more,
Since he’s gone.
All the ambition that they’d been storing up was flushed down the lavatory,
She didn’t love him but she knew he was what she needed.
He started wishing it, she started dreading it,
She burnt her party clothes.
Now there’s nowhere to go since she burnt those party clothes.
She said she didn’t need him,
He didn’t believe it.
He moved to the country,
And started sleeping around.
She can’t sleep no more,
She can’t sleep no more,
Since he’s gone.
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