Ottoman couch, how handsome your furniture

Lovelier now but dressed for a funeral

Begging you to sit for a portrait on the wall

To hang in the dark of some parliamentary hall

Elegant clothes you want to be seen with her

Under your tweeds you sweat like a teenager

Today’s for you

They laid it for you, for you

There’ll be six bells a-ringing and white women singing for you

But this feels so unnatural, Peter Gabriel, too

All of the costs

And all of the time it took

Soon it’s all lines of red in a leather book

Begging you to wait for a minute by the door

Your creeping feet where they’ve never been before