@MattAbbottPoet

@MattAbbottPoet
Image © Copyright Amy Charles Media 2014

29 Sep 2011

Broadway Circle


Mister Harris isn't happy; barged in through the door
His face incensed with fury and the odour of a skunk
His breath resembled sour milk and spit flew as he swore
He came in here on Wednesday last, his favourite trousers shrunk
I find the nearest notebook and I log down his complaint
But far from satisfactory, he's suing our Launderette
If he edges any closer, I'm certain that I'll faint
And how much bloody duller can my day get?

And I long for any life, but Broadway Circle
And I'll go and join a circus or a library or a church

And it's hardly worth the living when I'm leaving here upset
And how much bloody duller, can this day get?
Yeah I long for any life, but Broadway Circle


And foolishly I've fantasised on many afternoons
With Jim inside my headphones and a thousand mile stare
Convince myself at closing time the end is coming soon
Convince myself that anybody cares
Yeah, you've mispronounced my name-tag although you're getting near
And one day you might manage just to call me by my name
That's right, Mister Harris; it's not "moron", it's "Maria"


Yeah, I long for any life but Broadway Circle
And I'll go and join a circus or a library or a church
And it's hardly worth the payment 'cause I'll always be in debt

And how much bloody duller, can this day get?
Yeah I long for any life, but Broadway Circle

And I make my way home and I sigh and I recline
I stop off at the Co-Op and buy myself some cheap wine
I stroke my dog and put my slippers on my feet
And suddenly my day is rather sweet...

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