We are doing all of those things that we didn't have time to do
We are fulfilling all of those promises that we didn't have time to fulfil
Yet still I retreat
Into that silent solace shell
That quiet place where I love to dwell
Yet knowing that for others it is their living hell
I am escaping from those who are close to those who are close to me
I am indicating my displeasure yet achieving less than nought you'll see
Yet still I repeat
Once again the same mistake
My inherent stubbornness it is no fake
Jealousy is always the fiend I choose to rake
We are all having fun, we are all going places, days on the beach, days at the races
We did have fun, we did follow our traces, days on the beach, those old familiar chases
Yet still in deceit
I hide deep behind the word
Driving along nudging the highway kerb
Always doing what I do, intending to disturb
We are building rooms, fireplaces and floors, we are replacing windows; drawing plans, buying wooden doors
We did construct; wardrobes, bathrooms, kitchen shelves; only then to destruct; gardens, pathways, your living hell
Yet still my mind is fleet
Always unfulfilled, inside out
Hard to whisper, harder to shout
Never committing, fearing the doubt
We are going away, to an isolated cottage in the dales, with friends, with family, with wine, with real ale
We went away, to an island hotel by the sail, taking the children, to a place where all they did was wail
