Sometimes all it takes   Is to stumble on an advert in a free local paper   And you're uptown auditioning   On the piano keys to the suits and ties   And on Saturdays   If anybody should ask   I'm in a daydream   You're in a piano bar   Playing 80s hits to the affluent class   And on Saturdays   While you're out taking requests   I'm in the living room with a cup-a-soup and the same old CDs      Sometimes all it takes   Is a drunken conversation with the local dilettante   And I'm in the allotment fad   With a bag of seeds and a kneeling pad   And on Saturdays   If anybody should ask   I'm digging trenches   You're in the piano bar   Playing all the hits for the to an affable crowd   And on Saturdays   I'm eating homegrown rubarb   While you're leading singalongs of some well-known songs under vast chandeliers      You're playing Glenn Campbell, Bananarama   The Pet Shop Boys and Frank Sinatra   While I'm home dusting record covers   You're out playing 60s classics   From The Supremes to Ella Fitzgerald   To the Carpenters, Dexys Midnight Runners   And people ask if you enjoy it   "Well, certainly, only I can't help feeling something's not quite right"      And if we spend our days papering over the cracks   We'll wake up one day and won't see cracks at all      And on Saturdays   I'm tired of sitting alone   And you're in the piano bar   Where the drunken tears will soon start to dry