Recession - a perfect fit,
Makes no difference where he sits,
Not since they cut the ties,
Put some sadness in his eye.

Promises - come and go,
Soak the sun in drifts of snow,
A qualified butt-collector,
Working for the private sector.

Hes seen them go,
Without a trace,
This could be it,
The perfect place.

They took the plans from up my sleeve,
By an architect, on new years eve,
There it goes, a new bronze tower,
Washed away with an april shower.

Hes seen them go,
Without a trace,
This could be it,
The perfect place.

But, when youve gone,
Im still here, the only one,
My eyes and my ears,
Will be here til Im gone;
And its still the perfect place,
To rest a tired and weary face,
And its still the perfect place,
To lose your soul with a trace.

A lived-in face, with a root,
Of matted hair, a smiling tooth,
A dirty hand, a pixies nose,
Scratches underneath his clothes.

Hes seen them go,
Without a trace,
This could be it,
The perfect place.
Hes seen them go,
Without a trace,
This must be it ...

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