LYRICS

MY FACE

I lost my face the other day I don't know where it is Just that it's gone away I think I left it on a train A bus or something Or in the toilet It's really rubbish with no face Don't recognise myself Keep catching glimpses And I think it's someone else Can't see or hear or smell Keep banging into things Keep falling down the stairs And walking into shelves And so I bought another face Found on the internet at quite a decent price But now it's here, I am appalled What charlatan made this? I want my money back It took six weeks to come And when it did come, it was ripped So when I put it on, it made me look a twat And everybody laughed at me And they pushed me down a hole And took bets to see Who would beat me in a fight So now I stalk the Earth alone Not knowing who I am Or where to call my home Like an alien fucktard In a chromium dockyard Gonna fling myself into the Thames To see if I will float Then I'll grab a load of razor blades And cram 'em down me throat In a weak attempt to wake you up And find out if you care I bet you don't My face is like a sparking lump of electric meat In a plastic box tied to a lamp-post In a suburban street My face is like the glow of a faded silent film A Charlie Chaplin one Or that one with the train in it My face is like a comfort blanket Soft and warm and old And blue and damp and stinking My face is like a scummy bedsit With walls of swirling Artex And shelves of Betamax My face is like an empty car park Filled with lorries with cars inside them But cars with no men in My face is like a failing actor Who hasn't done a decent day's work Since Crossroads finished My face is like a chronic alcoholic Who breaks into ASDA And steals all the Famous Grouse from it My face is like a slippy lino If you're not careful You might break your neck on it My face is like a damp, rotten Tuesday When all your giro has run out And the milk is mouldy My face is like an endless queue Of Russian crones All lining up to buy a single potato waffle My face is like two bulldogs fighting each other In a deserted factory In Market Harborough My face looks like a crappy powder painting Done by a six year old kid With a slimy backwards hand My face is like the constant beeping Of an abandoned Mini Metro Which keeps me up at night My face is like a knackered old SCART lead With all its casing chewed off By the next door neighbour's cat My face is like a concrete statue Of a fat Belgian child Pissing onto a picture of himself My face is somewhere Have you seen it? If you do, call 99999999 I trudged wearily Down the dank, musty corridor To the photocopying machine Heavily resigned to the uncomfortable truth That I would never again see my own smile And would have to wear A cheap photocopy of someone else's And as I approached the machine I noticed a mirror hanging From the crumbling wall above it And as I neared the mirror The image in its rusty surface Began to clear and coalesce My face It was on my head all the time

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