When rejection becomes obsession your whole world is consumed,
With photographs and epitaphs and her face painted on the moon.
When rejection becomes obsession you waste away the afternoon,
Listening to Beck’s ‘Sea Change’ and stepping on balloons.
When rejection becomes obsession you’re awake in the wee small hours.
Like Sinatra in ’55, over your own Ava Gardner.
When rejection becomes obsession your disposition turns so sour.
You lose all will to live like her fading favourite flower.
Like a splinter in the soul,
The likeness is unbearable,
You only need one good pull to be free.
Like a splinter in the soul,
The likeness is unbearable,
You only need one good pull to be free.
When rejection becomes obsession your blood is on the tracks,
And the walls and the bridges and anything by Bacharach.
When rejection’s your only connection to a checkered past,
You become the forgotten forgetting nothing ever lasts.
Like a splinter in the soul,
The likeness is unbearable,
Like a splinter in the soul, like a splinter in the soul.
TV’s a drug that makes you dumb but if it helps me forget you then give me some.
TV’s a drug that makes you dumb but if it helps me forget you then give me some.
© 2008 james clark
So she said I was gracious and gallant as she lowered the fatal mallet.
There lays her hidden talent, softening the blow.
With the jangling of the bracelet upon her wrist, she sat down to pen her alphabetical list,
Of every pathetic reason why I exist, so I laid low.
Now she’s a terrible beauty and I’m terribly stoned.
Upon receiving her parting birthday card, I checked myself into the ward,
While she left to accept her awards and her kudos and her accolades.
Forfeiting my invitation I did not receive and with the potential of being asked to leave,
I ignored the card up my sleeve and I missed her parade.
Now she’s a terrible beauty and I’m terribly afraid.
She said it’s easy to speak well of the dead,
So I have nothing but good words for her in my head.
The miles I made for my appearance in the end didn’t make any difference.
I was looked upon as interference as sure as I’m alone standing here.
I know I could have been her Hercules, but I just couldn’t get up off these knees.
Stuck in this pattern it would seem in the museum of her.
Now she’s a terrible beauty and I’m terribly scarred.
Yes she’s a terrible beauty and I’m terribly inferior
According to her. According to her.
My terrible beauty.
© 2008 james clarkWhat do I do with this box of you?
“Cause although we’re through, I never threw out that box of you.
What do I do with this box of you?
Though you say we’re through, I never threw out that box of you.
Here we are last summer in Des Moines, Iowa.
On our way to Redding, California.
With your Fluevog shoes and my paranoia,
I adored ya, now I wonder what for ya!
What do I do with this box of you?
“Cause although we’re through, I never threw out that box of you.
There you sit with baby at your breast.
Dad’s Nikon capturing your tenderness.
I keep thinking here’s one for the photo contest,
So I can phone ya, don’t want to talk to your lawyer!
Christmas cards I can’t discard I’ve tried but I’m weak.
But was it really so hard for you to part with your box of me?!
Behind my face other traces of you.
I don’t recall where this particular one was taken.
And here’s my ticket from the CTA station.
Just like romance, the colours are fading.
It’s melancholia! I want to call ya!
What do I do with this box of you?
“Cause although we’re through, I never threw out that box of you.
What do I do with this box of you?
Though you say we’re through, I never threw out that box of you.
I never threw out that box of you.
I can’t throw away this box of you!
Buckle in the road, buckle in the road.
She came on like a buckle in the road.
Buckle in the road, buckle in the road.
She came on like a buckle in the road.
And I had no chance to swerve.
I had no chance to get up my nerve.
She came on with her dead man curves.
Buckle in the road, buckle in the road.
She came on like a buckle in the road.
Blister in the paint, blister in the paint.
She came up like a blister in the paint.
And she stirred up feelings within,
‘Til I painted myself into a corner again.
She came up like all the colours of a rainbow.
Buckle in the road, buckle in the road.
She came on like a buckle in the road.
a Bug in the system, like a bug in the system.
She shut me down like a bug in the system.
Like a virus in the head.
Like a crisis that’s been overfed.
She shut me down and I bled and I bled and I bled.
Buckle in the road, buckle in the road.
Buckle in the road.
If truth be told I can’t hold onto this false hope you’re giving me.
I’m growing old and I’m not sold on this false hope you’re leaving me.
Pin me to your wall until maybe you fall in love with me again.
If and when.
If truth be told I can’t hold onto this false hope you’re giving me.
I’m growing old and life’s too cold without this false hope, you’re bleeding me.
Encase me in your shadowbox in case you want to walk with me again.
But who knows when?
Not me!
Leave the door open just a crack,
In case one day I’m still intact!
And you want me back!
If truth be told I can’t hold onto this false hope you’re giving me.
I’m growing old and I’m not sold on this false hope, you’re leaving me.
Hold my breath ‘til I’m blue or until I see you once again.
What’s worse my friend?
If truth be told I can’t hold onto this false hope you’re giving me.
I’m growing old and life’s to cold without this false hope, you’re bleeding me.
Take every fibre of my soul and I’m liable to unroll and descend.
The question remains when?
Because I don’t know
Leave the door open just a crack.
In case one day he turns his back on you.
Boo hoo hoo! Boo hoo hoo!
If truth be told I can’t hold onto this false hope you’re giving me.
I’m growing old and I’m not sold on this false hope you’re leaving me.
You’re leaving me.
I know you’re leaving me behind.
So leave me alone.
When rejection becomes obsession your whole world is consumed,
With photographs and epitaphs and her face painted on the moon.
When rejection becomes obsession you waste away the afternoon,
Listening to Beck’s ‘Sea Change’ and stepping on balloons.
When rejection becomes obsession you’re awake in the wee small hours.
Like Sinatra in ’55, over your own Ava Gardner.
When rejection becomes obsession your disposition turns so sour.
You lose all will to live like her fading favourite flower.
Like a splinter in the soul,
The likeness is unbearable,
You only need one good pull to be free.
Like a splinter in the soul,
The likeness is unbearable,
You only need one good pull to be free.
When rejection becomes obsession your blood is on the tracks,
And the walls and the bridges and anything by Bacharach.
When rejection’s your only connection to a checkered past,
You become the forgotten forgetting nothing ever lasts.
Like a splinter in the soul,
The likeness is unbearable,
Like a splinter in the soul, like a splinter in the soul.
TV’s a drug that makes you dumb but if it helps me forget you then give me some.
TV’s a drug that makes you dumb but if it helps me forget you then give me some.
© 2008 james clark
Step right up! Watch me forget about you.
There’s a special place for me in Baraboo.
I hope you’ll come up and see me fall down.
I know you have another, maybe two.
Juggling’s never been so difficult for you.
If I know you, and I do, you’re not wearing a frown.
But I am leaving these big shoes to fill, big shoes to fill.
I know you want to so I know you will fill these big shoes to fill.
There’s a broken seltzer bottle on the 3rd ring floor.
A broken heart in trailer number four,
Because I am sure he fills you up with passion and with mirth.
I understand this show, it can’t go on,
We’ve been pretending for eight years on.
Now I know you’ve gone and this heart’s taken the greatest blow on earth.
But it’s leaving you with big shoes to fill, big shoes to fill.
I know you want to so I know you will fill those big shoes to fill.
I’m not a strong man but I’m very tall.
But you can make me feel oh so very small.
Like the dwarf in the 2 o’clock show,
I’m a wonder of the world and I wonder where’ll you go…now!...
The sword swallower and the acrobat,
Both agree your words were sharp as tacks.
Now there’s no turning back and no net down below.
The tattooed lady is looking blue.
The elephants are grey just like me too.
Unlike them you’ll forget me by tomorrow.
But please remember these big shoes to fill, big shoes to fill.
I know you’re searching for new sights and thrills,
Big shoes to fill, big shoes to fill.
I know you want to but you never will fill these big shoes to fill.
Step right up! Watch me forget about you!
© james clark 2007
The law professor’s not returning my calls,
He’s busy making up brand new laws,
In case he ever catches me with his daughter again.
I’m finding out that I can no longer visit the world I used to live in.
The curator’s not willing to admit,
She used to like me like she liked your exhibits.
Now I’m on the outside wondering to myself should I peek in?
Get a final glimpse of the world that I used to live in.
Oh I’m the outsider, nail biter, town crier.
Crying to the extreme.
She’s the sidewinder, squeezing tighter,
Killing off the fighter in me.
The entrepreneur has offered me a position.
Shaming my soul only under one condition,
That I leave his big sister alone and let her win.
Be the champion of the world that I used to live in.
Oh I’m the outsider, nail biter, town crier,
Crying to the extreme.
She’s the sidewinder, squeezing tighter,
Choking off the lover in me.
The ceramic urns are waiting to be busted.
By the jealous freak that she once stupidly trusted.
Now he’s pathetically, esthetically all alone.
Pressed against the window of the world he thought he used to own.
Now I’m on the outside wondering to myself should I peek in.
Get myself a final glimpse of the world that I used to live in.
I can no longer visit the world I used to live in.
I’m no longer welcome in the world I used to live in.
© james clark 2006
Sleeping In My Favourite Shirt
I can’t remember the last time the drapes were pulled,
Open to reveal the outside world,
And let the sun warm these shattered nerves.
I can’t remember the last time the sheets were washed.
I can’t remember the last time the teeth were flossed.
I can’t forget when and what I lost.
Now I’m sleeping in my favourite shirt.
I keep having dreams where I don’t hurt.
Sleeping in the bed I made,
And I’ll be sleeping for a thousand days,
Sleeping for a thousand days in my favourite shirt.
It’s been a long time since my face last showed up,
Reflected in your best plates and cups.
These days they’re down in the sink with my luck.
Because I’m sleeping and nothing is better.
When I’m sleeping there’s no better place.
If I’m slumbering the reasons are out numbering the creases on my face!
La la la la, la la la la la. La la la la, la la la la la.
Lullabies and good riddance.
‘Cause I’m sleeping in my favourite shirt.
I keep having dreams where I don’t hurt.
Sleeping in a bed I made,
And I’ll be sleeping for a thousand days.
Sleeping for a thousand days in my favourite shirt.
The neighbour’s dog howls outside my window.
Amongst the grass that remains unmowed.
And I’m oblivious to the world I used to know.
‘Cause I’m sleeping in my favourite shirt.
I keep having dreams where I don’t hurt.
Sleeping in a bed I made,
And I’ll be sleeping for a thousand days, sleeping for a thousand days.
Sleeping for a million days, sleeping for a billion days,
Sleeping for a zillion days,
Sleeping in my favourite shirt.
© james clark 2006.
The bees are bad this year. They buzz around my beer.
Making it hard to appear sincere but I am.
The stewardess was there. She let down her hair.
She was putting on airs though she was firmly on land.
Cindy Sherman’s ears must be burning.
This fairy tale’s turning monstrous.
In a cab on Williamson, it all came back with a grin.
While I reached in for $15.50.
‘Neil Young’s Greatest Hits’, and R.E.M. on cassette.
The soundtrack I won’t soon forget to our movie.
Cindy Sherman’s ears must be burning,
This fairy tale’s turning monstrous
You share the same qualities as the damsel in distress.
I wear the same monogrammed handkerchief as Jesus, yeah.
Yesterday I sat in a Vaughn Road Laundromat,
Accepting that that is that and washing you away.
Cindy Sherman’s ears must be burning.
This fairy tale’s turning monstrous.
Monstrous….Monstrous.
© james clark 2007.
Something crashed in Lake Monona last night.
A twin engine Beachcraft in Lake Monona last night.
December waters are cold, Lord have mercy on the king of soul’s soul.
Something crashed in Lake Monona last night.
My heart sank in Lake Monona last night.
She made me walk the plank on Lake Monona last night.
She said to quote the song; she’d been loving me too long.
Something crashed in Lake Monona last night.
Down down down like a song in the charts.
You know his crown was found by some record sharks.
My heart drowned in Lake Monona last night.
Not to be found in Lake Monona last night.
Submerged, it succumbed, like the silencing of Mr. Jackson’s drums.
Down down down like a song in the charts.
You know his crown was found by some record sharks.
Something crashed in Lake Monona last night.
Something crashed in Lake Monona last night.
December waters are cold, Lord have mercy on the king of soul’s soul.
Something crashed, something crashed.
Something crashed, something crashed.
Something crashed, something crashed.
Something crashed, something crashed.
© james clark 2005.
With the seasons changing in reverse,
You found your reasons for leaving me immersed.
And because it’s winter in July,
Your heart wins the ice sculpture prize.
With your totem pinned to the wall,
You left me holding on and pinned to the fall.
The distance between us paralleled,
The damage done to my ventricles.
Kangaroo….Kangaroo…It’s all thanks to you.
Up and away like you’re some kind of super girl.
And I’m your Kryptonite waiting on the other side of the world.
You’ve been checking into ways to leave.
I’m checking out just like George Reeves.
Kangaroo….Kangaroo…It’s all thanks to you.
With the seasons changing in reverse.
© james clark 2006.
She said she was an artist but she failed to remind
Me before she departed, she was the escape kind.
“Confrontation’s not my strongest point”.
A quotation from a phrase she coined.
It leaves my loving arms out of joint.
They said she was an artist, incomparably so.
Creating beauty from darkness, this is the darkest I’ve ever known.
Technology breaks my heart.
Gives the ability for a cruel depart.
She signed her name, it must be art.
I want her to sign my chalk outline.
I need her to sign my chalk outline.
She said I was an artist who never met his potential.
So I’ve been discarded like a worn down shading pencil.
Technology, it shakes the heart.
Gives the ability for a cruel depart.
She signed her name, it must be art.
I want her to sign my chalk outline.
I need her to sign my chalk outline.
I hope she signs my chalk outline.
I need her to sign my chalk outline.
My chalk outline. My chalk outline.
© james clark 2006.
She’s so curt with her words she cuts me down to size.
Despite her laconic ways her popularity rises higher, higher.
She’s so dark with her heart, it puts mine to shame.
Though she tears me apart, I keep falling just like rain.
Falling from higher, higher.
I only wish that I could be a little more popular
Like her train driving monkey, like her train driving monkey.
She’s so approachable though I can never get near.
To what she’s all about now that I’m no longer needed here by her, by her.
I only wish that I could be a little more popular
Like her train driving monkey, like her train driving monkey.
Like her drum banging monkey, like her drum banging monkey.
Mister postman please don’t bring me no more of these.
I don’t want to read about her popularity.
Mister postman please don’t bring me no more of these.
I don’t need to read about her popularity.
He wins, he’s the best in her popularity contest.
© james clark 2007.
She’s off in Thailand now living in Changmai,
Banishing herself to the other side.
She’s eating corn and lychee, I have a new dilemma.
Do I follow her down or wait for September?
It feels like forever.
While Bettie Page rides a donkey, I’m a million miles away.
She says “act your age” but I’m feeling funky today.
I’m living vicariously through her cards and letters
Sometimes I even think I have it all together.
She’s heading down to Changrai then on to Noah’s village,
While I’m at home learning there’s no rest for the wicked.
Should I be more specific? I’m not feeling too terrific.
While Bettie Page rides her donkey, I’m a million miles away oh yeah.
She says “act your age”, but I’m feeling funky today.
While I’m contemplating she’s so tired of waiting.
She’s so tired of waiting for me.
While Bettie Page rides her donkey, she’s a million miles away oh yeah.
She says “act your age” but I’m feeling funky today.
Funky today, I’m funky today.
© james clark 2005.
While flipping through the pages of “The Films Of Charlie Chaplin”,
That he acquired in 1973.
He casts his mind way back but he’s not sure how it happened,
How he came to being me.
It’s a sad and sordid script, border lining on slap stick.
It was a real pie in the face to see it turn out like it did.
I need a girl heroine.
Someone to keep the plot moving.
Someone who’ll save me in the end,
A girl heroine. I need a girl heroine.
While sifting through the FBI files on Charlie Chaplin,
He uncovered some lies of his own.
All in the name of keeping them laughing,
He buried his heart like a stone.
But the key required most in comedy is pathos.
He did a real double take when life became quite a joke.
I need a girl heroine.
Someone to keep the plot moving.
Someone who’ll save me in the end.
A girl Heroine. I need a girl heroine.
This must be the dream sequence because she’s dressed like angel.
If I could speak in my defense before the mallet fatal
Comes crashing down cracking on my head
Like Mabel said…..
“….He needs a girl heroine.
Someone to keep the plot moving.
Someone who’ll save him in the end.
He needs a girl heroine. A girl heroine.”
I need a girl heroine.
Someone to keep the plot moving.
Someone who’ll save me in the end.
A girl heroine. I need a girl heroine.
© james clark 2005
I Wonder Where You Are Tonight Jennie Lee
Casting long shadows I can’t smile but I can weep.
Under your spotlights with the secrets I can’t keep.
My horoscope said I am having a bad week,
And I wonder where you are tonight my Jennie Lee.
Elizabeth singing like a bird.
My apologies, I don’t understand a word.
The little prince rolls a smoke just for me,
As I wonder where you are tonight my Jennie Lee.
Romance, ambulance…one follows the other,
When you’re addicted, afflicted with the memory of another.
Venus De Milo, while sipping at her wine,
Waves to the people, claiming a good time.
While Martha wonders what it is that’s gotten into me,
But all I can wonder is where you are tonight my Jennie Lee.
Romance, ambulance…one follows the other.
When you’re addicted…afflicted with the memory of another.
Daisy and Violet rarely feel alone.
Joining each other on their saxophones.
On Wilkinson Boulevard they weigh in happily.
But there’s no way they can tell me where you are.
No they can’t say where you are.
So I’ll stay a humiliated star tonight my Jennie Lee.
My Jennie Lee.
My Jennie Lee.
© james clark 2007.
It’s the end of September; it’s the end of an error.
We put the game pieces away.
Attempts have all failed to get myself out of jail.
You took the money and away…
…you went tired and spent but nonetheless happy.
It seems you have a new opponent, one I have never met.
I’m not the competitive kind.
No strategy is the word; it’s why I’m always in third,
Almost every single time…
I play a sore loser but hey you’re nonetheless happy.
While I’m nonetheless empty, nonetheless destitute.
Nonetheless bereft of anything remotely cute.
Nonetheless broken and I’m nonetheless blue,
And I’m nonetheless in love with you.
It’s August 12th, I’m back on the shelf.
Popamatic trouble indeed!
I’m off the board and your winning score
Has brought me more trouble than I need…
…today but I guess I’ll find a way to be nonetheless happy.
Nonetheless happy.
Meanwhile I’m nonetheless empty, nonetheless destitute.
Nonetheless bereft of anything remotely cute.
Nonetheless disheveled and I’m nonetheless blue,
And I’m nonetheless in love with you.
Nonetheless in love with you.
© james clark 2006.
Picture perfect like the one on the postcard.
The one you sent me from the prison yard.
It’s so good to be home again.
It’s so good to be home, home again.
Breathe that stale air into my lungs.
Where nothing’s changed at all since the day I got sprung.
It’s so good to be home again.
It’s so good to be with bad friends.
It’s so good to be home, home again.
I traded my nine to five for five to nine.
I gave up punching clocks, now I’m just doing time.
I’ve seen the pros and cons, now I’m where I belong.
I’ve made my decision, you’ve got your prison and I’ve got mine.
The Birdman of Alcatraz on my stolen TV,
Made me so homesick and I slugged the cop on the beat!
It’s so good to be home again.
It’s so good to be with bad friends.
It’s so good to be home, home again.
It’s so good to be home again.
It’s so good to be with bad friends.
It’s so good to be home, home again.
Home again, home again, home again!
© James Clark 2003.
If I could shed my skin for you like cicadas in the afternoon,
Would it change your mind about me? But never mind, I can’t even change my own tune.
If I could star in a trapeze act like some flea acrobats,
Would it scratch a memory or two, would it make you want to jump back?
Maybe all I need is a little more dexterity,
And the God given ability to crawl and creep.
If I was to break down and beg, get down on all six legs,
Would your porch light come on for me or would you put your foot down naturally?
Maybe all I need is a little more dexterity,
And the God given ability to crawl and….
….Creep back to you in the dark.
With the beetles in deep sleep.
Let those bed bugs bark.
Yeah, yeah, yeah!
Maybe all I need is a little more dexterity,
And the God given ability to crawl and creep.
Maybe all I need is the God given ability,
A little more dexterity to crawl and creep.
© 2004 james clark
Here comes another reason to love me, as if you needed, as if you needed another.
I am strong as strong can be and I won’t let them make you suffer.
When you come to me and you’re trembling,
I will calm you and you’ll see…
There’s no one like me.
There’s no one like me.
Try as they will, they won’t succeed,
Because there’s no one like me.
There goes another wasted memory and you already have enough of those kind.
All bad things are temporary and what goes around comes back around in time.
When you come around to me and you’re trembling,
I will calm you and you’ll see…
There’s no one like me.
There’s no one like me.
Try as they will, they won’t succeed,
Because there’s no one like me.
Nobody, nobody like me.
When reality gets to real to see,
I’m going to calm you and we’ll just be.
Tell me that there’s no one like me.
There’s no one like me.
Try as they will, I’m sure you’d agree,
That there’s no one like me.
Nobody, nobody like me.
There’s no one like me, there’s no one like me.
There’s no one quite like me.
Here comes another reason to love me.
© James Clark 2004
Could it be you’re not supposed to be so dead
But would you be any different had you lived
Accidental overdose or had you planned to meet the host
Seeing you so comatose makes me think of when we were close
Years before like Bud and Lou in ‘44
The golden age before the rage
Now I feel like he feels when he swallows his tongue
Now I feel like he feels when he buries his son
Now I feel it’s all too real and the damage is done
It’s done and you’re gone
But could it be you’re not supposed to be so gone
Should I’ve foreseen the amputating of my right arm
Incidental music flows as the heart and breathing slows
And seeing you so comatose makes me think we’re not so close anymore
Like Bud and Lou in ‘54
Things had changed
The demons did reign
Now I feel like he feels when he swallows his tongue
Now I feel like he feels when he buries his son
Now I feel it’s all too real and the damage is done
It’s done and you’re gone
© 1998 James Clark
Now my head is screwed on right,
I can see the sound, I can hear the light.
Now my head is screwed on tight,
I’ll be alright, I’ll be alright.
My skies are green and my grass is blue.
I’m standing on my head for you.
This confusion runs deep; it’s an intrusion of sleep.
Losing more marbles by the week.
But now my head is screwed on right…..
In through the out door and out through the in.
Up the down escalator and down the up again.
Anxiety disorder stamped all over me like a police blotter.
Feeling easy just gets harder.
And now my head is on tight and I sleep most every night.
And this world of mine looks very fine.
It’s turning clockwise.
Head on straight, better never than late!
Like a Ferris Wheel ride, ‘round and ‘round my head gets tight.
My funhouse mirror never lies.
And now my head is screwed on right,
I can see the sound, I can hear the light.
Now my head is screwed on tight.
I’ll be alright, I’ll be alright, I am alright.
© James Clark 2004
The Worst Photograph Ever Taken Of Me
She hangs it on her wall and makes me feel quite uncomfortable.
Whenever I’m over I feel like crawling underneath.
I wish she’d give it back…the worst photograph ever taken of me!
Now she says she thinks I’m cursed. She compliments me on being well versed,
In all of the excuses I could give to get sympathy.
But she still won’t give it back…the worst photograph ever taken of me!
Now picture this and picture more.
Picture me pulling her to the floor.
Attempting to save face, preventing disgrace, relenting is such a waste for them all.
Just let me fall!
Now I don’t know what I was thinking, (He goes home to his dictionary)
Time goes by in the blinking, (Finds his face beside the word homely)
Of the eye of the lens, capturing it all for posterity.
I hear the generations laugh at the worst photograph ever taken of me.
Now picture this and picture that.
Picture me pinning her to the mat.
Opening clenched hands, revenging her plan to lessen this man before them all.
Just let me fall!
Silently, gracefully, from the family tree, from the family tree.
She says she thinks I’m cursed. She keeps that 2x3 inside of her purse.
I don’t want to sound negative but something’s developing in me.
And my whole future’s looking black since the worst photograph ever taken of me.
But I swear I’ll get it back, the worst photograph ever taken of me.
It’s written right on the back. It says ‘the worst photograph ever taken of me’.
© James Clark 2004
Leave the grease and grime and erect a sign.
Drive it straight through my heart, and then you drive away the car.
Without me, without you, things have come unglued,
And I get the feeling the ceiling’s falling in on me.
In this house for sale in a very pleasant neighborhood.
There’s a house for sale, you know I’d stay if I could,
But there are just too many bad memories that hit me rough,
‘Cause there was never any love in this house for sale.
No electricity just like between you and me.
I’m in the dark with my ears, it sounds like I’ve been there for years.
Now with eyes wide open I see happy home is broken,
And I get the feeling the ceiling’s coming down on me.
In this house for sale in a very pleasant neighborhood.
There’s a house for sale, you know I’d stay if I could,
But there are just too many bad memories that hit me rough,
‘Cause there was never any love in this house for sale.
You need a change of address.
I need a change from this mess.
And home is where the heart…home is where the heart…
Home is where the heart attack is!
Without you, without me, the white picket fence is peeling,
And I cannot stop this feeling oh no, oh no!
In a house for sale in a very pleasant neighborhood.
There’s a house for sale, you know I’d stay if I could,
But there are just too many bad memories that hit me rough,
‘Cause there was never any love, no there was never any love,
Well there was never any love in this house for sale.
© James Clark 2004