Picture this, 2:30 on the hottest night in June   He awakes for no reason and checks his watch by the moon   And his mouth feels as dry as his eyes as he struggles to rise   And stops to contemplate his wifes thighs as he does up his flies      He finds his slippers where he left them under the chair   Behind the two cups and an old copy of Marie Claire   And he switches on the coffee machine   That of course works like a dream   Catches sight of his reflection in the silver surface sheen      And it's a face he knows well although it should look less abused   With all these moisturizers and the skin products he?s used   As he moves through the kitchen, his homage to brushed steel   Across the new pine floorin' that?s plastic but looks real      Past the plasma with the wide screen   And the cinema surround sound   And he stops on his favorite spot by the window and looks down   On the orange lit street at the edge of the private car park   Where his Audi TT is waitin' safely in the dark      Keepin' it all inside of you   Somethin' will have to give   And if you could you?ll take it back   But you lose your way in the way you live      Now he can hear wind chimes tinklin' out on the balcony   And his phone beepin' out a text message in the same key   He checks it and it?s Jill who used to be his secretary   Before they started an affair and things began to get really scary      Now his wife Mary is gettin' weary of his lies   Like she?s read the whole sordid story in his eyes   It doesn?t help that Jill?s now sayin' that she?s two weeks late   His mental state is really startin' to deteriorate      He never knew how he got so out of his depth   Or why he?s broken more than all these promises kept   And it?s been ages since he slept properly   His sleeps now broken by these dreams of extra-marital activity      Tryin' to recapture the rapture he used to get   From his material possessions and endless retail therapy sessions   Shoulda listened to what his dad said before he died   ?The best things in life are the ones you can?t buy, son?      Keepin' it all inside of you   Somethin' will have to give   Wish you could buy a ticket back   But you lose your way in the way you live      He used to feel so safe up here in his shrine to Ikea   Away from the shouts and the louts and the girls   With the over painted pouts   And the queers and the dykes and the kids in their box fresh Nikes   Deliverin' rocks to the house across the street   On rusty mountain bikes      He used to feel so safe up here in his shrine to Ikea   Away from the shouts and the louts and the girls   With the over painted pouts   And the queers and the dykes and the kids in their box fresh Nikes   Deliverin' rocks to the house across the street   On rusty mountain bikes